


Room For A Third

by sherlocked10097



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blowjobs, M/M, Mormorlock, Multi, RP format, Reconciliation, Rimming, Smut starts in chapter 2, Some Humor, Threesome - M/M/M, breakups & makeups, danger is an aphrodisiac, handjobs, lotsa banter, more feels than you'd imagine for a threesome, separate pairings will happen at some point, trouble brewing...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2018-04-18 08:35:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 47,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4699358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlocked10097/pseuds/sherlocked10097
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock gave him a soured face. “He took my phone.”<br/>“It’s in my pants,” Sebastian added, pointing casually at his crotch.<br/>“You’re not allowed to make me laugh, Basher, it’s a hostage situation.” And a damn sorry excuse for one, at that. “Give Sherlock his phone.” Jim kissed Sherlock's shoulder. “He puts extra pockets for weapons in his jeans,” he explained in a murmur.<br/>“No, really,” Sebastian snickered to himself, tapping over his crotch, clear there was something metallic there.<br/>Sherlock huffed stubbornly. “He shoved it down there to further provoke me. As if being bound wasn’t humiliating enough…”<br/>“Oh, pipe down, you baby. We already covered the fact that you’re lucky to be alive.”<br/>Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “Give it back.”<br/>“Or else what?”<br/>Indignantly, he pulled himself up away from Jim, standing up to tower over Sebastian, who didn’t seem concerned. “Give it back, or I will take it back,” he issued in challenge.<br/>Sebastian said nothing, eyes widening in surprise. That wasn’t supposed to be an option, was it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Epilogue

**Author's Note:**

> (This takes place in the middle but more stories from the same 'verse may be posted in time.)

**THE STORY SO FAR**

In the beginning it was Jim and Sebastian, and this suited them both fine for years.

Then along came Sherlock Holmes.

Over the course of an uncertain but happy enough relationship, Jim’s obsession has turned to love, and that Jim is even capable of it is news to the sniper, who despite feeling betrayed by the consultants’ tentative engagement can’t bear to leave his beloved boss for good. He forgives Jim too much, the way Jim forgives Sherlock’s affair with Irene and constant wavering as to whether he wants to have a relationship at all.

As Jim needs them both he sees no need to choose between them, until Sherlock turns to him one night and says a choice should be made.

It seems easy enough at first, to leave a drugged Sebastian with a suitcase worth twenty million for good luck, along with a note of apology that isn’t so apologetic and tasks him with icing the Iceman if he ever gets the chance.

It’s decidedly less easy for Sebastian, who catches up with them in Venice and takes his pain out on Jim. It used to be a spot of fun, being tied and tortured, but this time Sebastian means it, and instead of a happy ending, Jim gets a bullet in the leg.

After a brief hospital stay, Sherlock and Jim relocate from Venice to Ireland, actively avoiding the British Government and their newest captive: a distraught and aimless Moran whose sense of betrayal Mycroft Holmes is eager to expand and utilize.

When it becomes clear that Sebastian’s death would hurt Jim more than he lets on, Sherlock travels to England to intercede. They’ve met before, when it was Jim in Mycroft’s clutches and it took Sebastian roughing the detective up and letting him know. But this time, they get along better. A little too well for Jim’s liking, when Mycroft sends him a photograph of them kissing in a cell.

Of all the unthinkable things to have to forgive. But somehow, Jim does.

After enduring hell for a month, Sebastian is freed rather than killed, since Mycroft is certain he’s the only one capable of breaking up the alliance between detective and criminal.

Mycroft gets shot for his troubles and his assumption, but not fatally. When the news hits Jim, he has to fight not to laugh, and with a phone call lets Sebastian know he might just be back in Jim’s good graces.

Sherlock finds it less funny, of course, and ventures to London to pay his brother a visit. While in town he meets with Irene for advice on how to hunt a tiger…

Well, nobody said it was a **good** idea.


	2. Ch. 1

**Three days after Mycroft’s non-fatal shooting, Jim gets a picture of a bound Sherlock, Seb standing beside him with a sardonic thumbs-up:**

[Image attached] I got a visitor today. –SM

Jesus assfucking Christ. –JM

“Probably should’ve brought Watson.” He felt it was important that you know that. –SM

Considering nobody ever listens to me, not sure it is. D’you hurt him? –JM

Roughed him up a bit. Only what was necessary to restrain his skinny arse. –SM

He hurt you? –JM

Not really. –SM

Ok. Posing for an ironic Christmas card before going your separate ways, I hope. –JM

Nah. I let him go, he just runs back to big brother and finks me out. –SM

[Or to me but you don’t like that option either. DELETED Can’t you go a week without putting me in tricky situations? Dick. DELETED]

Right. So your grand plan is…? –JM

Not sure. –SM

Traveling with a hostage is tricky, but not impossible. –SM

Like you’d know, you never leave any. Did you take away his phone? –JM

Of course. On both counts. –SM

[Slight delay] I appreciate you letting me know. –JM

You’re welcome. –SM

You can’t keep him forever. –JM

Is that a challenge? –SM

Part logic, part request, part command. –JM

To that last third: you’re not my boss anymore. –SM

And not everyone I’ve compelled to do something has been in my employ. Far from it. I’m not amused. And that stands for both of you I suppose. How long’s he been there? –JM

Couple hours maybe. Dunno, took a nap after I secured him. –SM

Where are you now? –JM

Funny, he wouldn’t say how he got to me… Somewhere. Why? –SM

Impromptu though it may have been, rude to throw a party and not invite Daddy. –JM

Blame your boytoy – if I’d have known he was coming, I would’ve been wearing a shirt. –SM

Fiancé, and no you wouldn’t have. –JM

On the off-chance he did manage to get the upper hand, I wouldn’t want to get taken to the station in my boxers. –SM

I see what you’re trying to do. –JM

I’m trying to do something? –SM

Very nearly succeeding, too. That’s fine. I still want to know where you are. –JM

Why do you want to know, exactly? –SM

Not to hurt you. –JM

[delay] Athens. –SM

A mere four hour flight away. Interesting. –JM

That is interesting. –SM

Thinking of paying ransom? –SM

[I don’t know what I’m thinking DELETED] Dunno. Is it set in stone or circumstantial? –JM

I haven’t thought of one yet. –SM

So circumstantial. –SM

Send me an address and I’ll be there eventually. The fewer ropeburns, bruises and flirtations, the better. –JM

Why exactly would I want you over? –SM

[You make me laugh. DELETED] Because I can talk him out of ratting on you? –JM

If that were possible, you’d have done that before he got here. –SM

He needed a hunt. You can understand that. –JM

Yes. I also know the hunt is empty without something to show for it. –SM

I can always contact Iceman, inform him his misguided orders have led his brother into harm, and let someone else take care of it. Not all that pumped about seeing you, either, so perhaps that’s the best route. –JM

True. But even if they burst down my door, it’s enough time to put a bullet in his head. Why risk that? –SM

Flawless plan if you really want to make me put one in mine. –JM

We’ll all die. Sounds like a plan. –SM

And if I said it’d be nice to see you? –JM

Then maybe I’d believe you. –SM

[delay] Address. –JM

Hotel Bretagne. Room 204. –SM

I’ll pop by at some point. You can tell him or not. –JM

Fine. We’re ordering takeaway. –SM

Well, at least you’re good to your hostages. –JM

Put on some damn clothes. –JM

Make me! –SM

You two exhaust me. –JM

Wrestling him down wasn’t exactly refreshing, just so you know. –SM

I can imagine. –JM

Will you be by soon, or should I just order for us two? –SM

[So civil. DELETED] I’ll be awhile yet. Maybe tomorrow. –JM

As you wish. We’ll keep each other company. –SM

-

Tomorrow. Why rush? They were dining, not killing each other. Sebastian had an unexpected guest and Sherlock had rushed headlong into dangerous territory – that was what it boiled down to. Jim knew his own weak spots that could be picked out for especial taunts. He wasn’t about to beg Sebastian to be fully dressed, or warn him not to trust Sherlock trying to play off thinking Seb wanted him. Oh, sure, it was troubling, but Jim had to wonder if he hadn’t seen things in a wrong light… _Circumstantial ransom, give me a damn break. Maybe you can get him to eat something._

He had to roll his eyes at all three of them, or he’d go mad. No, he wasn’t about to charter a private plane because the real flights weren’t til the morning. He wasn’t ready to. Needed some time to think. What could he do, change, prevent? Nothing without thinking, and deciding he was impervious to the possible worst. Which needed deciding what, precisely, that might be. Jim sighed. Despite it all…a strange, small current of excitement ran riot through the rest of his thoughts. It was all, at the very least, interesting – and that was more than could be said for most things in the world. All of them in the same place…daunting, yet struck him as inevitable. He should likely have been taking it more seriously – Sherlock a hostage to someone who loathed his position, Sebastian bound for prison or death if that changed. But Seb was amused. And Sherlock was eating. Hm. He’d swing by when he pleased. No need even to warn them exactly when. He’d be able to glean infinitely more if relative surprise was on his side.

All very interesting.

-

“Still not entirely sure why you thought this was a good idea,” Sebastian teased matter-of-factly, digging into a carton of Mongolian beef. “I mean really. I’m stronger than you, older than you, more experienced than you-“

“Oh, shut up,” Sherlock grumbled, now chained to the chair, struggling some to use chopsticks. “I had the element of surprise.”

“With no back-up,” Seb shrugged, laying back on the bed. “Might as well have cuffed yourself.”

“Hmph,” Sherlock hummed, eating some to occupy himself.

“Besides,” Seb stretched out, then began flipping through the channels on the plasma screen, “Not that surprising, seeing as Jim knew it was me. Only a matter of time before someone came after me.”

“He refused to tell me anything,” Sherlock griped. “Had to find you myself…”

“Huh. He’s got a sense of fair play, over being in love…That’s new.”

“Not really. He usually protects you in some way or another.”

Sebastian shrugged. “And he’ll come to protect you.”

-

The next morning, Jim began to doubt the wisdom of a cavalier mindset. Not so much string-pulling Daddy coming late to an important negotiation, as someone who was about to join his ex-lover and current one for lively conversations of very grim things. In a hotel room! Public location would ostensibly curb loud and illegal behavior, but who knew. And if any three of them lost it, four very observant eyes would bear witness to it. He should, he knew, be very careful – with the two people he knew best, ironically – until he had a full picture of how much either had said, and what would end Sherlock and Sebastian’s little sparring match that entwined business and personal.

It was enough to drive a man to drink.

So Jim did on the plane, simply to calm his nerves. Never minding that it was a 6am flight, that he hadn’t breakfasted and barely slept. One of those little bottles, then another, kept him calm enough as he tried to think it through. _They’re fine_ , he told himself. _They didn’t fuck_ , Christ. _This can all be managed somehow._ A third little bottle just before landing. Because if nothing else he could pass out for an hour, and sleep it off under the watch of the two people he trusted and loved most knowing that when he woke, not much would have changed between them.

Avoidance. But he needed that option.

A small thrill again in the taxi to the hotel. Some awareness that _anything_ could occur. But strolling past the front desk and taking the stairs slowly, it hit him again that that might not be a great thing. In all probability, it wasn’t. In all probability, _anything_ could hurt.

 _Get in, talk them both down, and try not to feel too much_. Booze was great for that. Put a haze over everything. Room 201, 202 – _atrocious carpeting, good god_ – 203…204. Sebastian and Sherlock behind it. Jim rolled his neck, drew in a long breath. Sebastian and Sherlock. Anywhere in the world, either were Home. Both…was something strange and temporary and Jim took a long while standing there before knocking. A familiar little rapped code, one Sebastian would know as Jim’s, always saying Don’t Worry It’s Just Me. If anyone had to worry, it was likely Jim.

Thankfully, Jim was lightly toasted and thinking bravely, past all other thoughts: _Showtime_.

-

“You can’t be serious,” Sherlock deadpanned, arms latched around the radiator.

“I am.”

“This is inhumane.”

“Hey, I fed you. This is the payment,” Sebastian shrugged, turning up the volume to the Tinkerbell movie as Sherlock groaned, wondering just how hard he’d have to ram his head into the metal to pass out.

A knock at the door. Seb picked up on the code quickly, though his hand had unintentionally flown to his gun. He let out a breathy sigh, letting it sit and turning off the TV. “Looks like your knight in shining armor is here,” he grunted, smoothing out his black t-shirt. Still, he peeked through the peephole. Hm. Little casual for Jim. He unchained the door, inching it open with a grin, “What’s the password?”

-

Seb’s voice muffled through the door. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, Jim tracked it closer until it was replaced by a clink. Then the room, a mirror that hit both the doorway and a bound Sherlock, giving one full view of the other. Sebastian was a clever _bitch_ , at times.

But so far, everyone was alive. So that was a good start.

The tip of Jim’s tongue pushed against the roof of his mouth, upper teeth. An eyeroll that he turned into a grimace, nerves into a small, annoyed shake of the head. _Password’s same as it’s ever been, Moron._ “You look like shit, Sebastian,” Jim stated dispassionately.

-

Seb huffed, opening the door fully. “I have a reason to.” He let Jim in, promptly latching the door behind him. “Welcome to my hideaway. So nice to have you.” It was sarcastic as possible, but he couldn’t keep the smile off his face, happy as hell to see Jim. It was all he could do not to hug him.

-

“Heard it’s the hot new hangout for consultants,” Jim slid into the room, hands in pockets. The carpeting in here was much calmer. Jim’s gaze roamed from it up to Sebastian’s face, flickered all over it, one eye twitching. _Alive I’ve missed you Leave Sherlock alone I forgive you But not really Quit smiling But I like your smile. Hi._ A sharp puff of breath left his lips, and he curved a frown from the shape they made, though the infectiousness of Sebastian’s smile turned it lopsided, half displeasure and half telltale amusement. _This asshole._ If Jim’s eyes lost their brightness, it was while running over the detail of his old tiger’s thinness, and an aura of something unpredictable boiling under the surface, not entirely of Jim’s own making. Alarming. But it took some effort not to kiss Sebastian as he had after a tricky job gone right. “So how could I resist,” Jim returned the sarcasm that masked its own truth. His heart pounded; he covered that by moving slowly, head tilted down and pointing towards Sherlock, a slow shake at seeing him tied up. _I don’t even have to say I Told You So, honey._ Jim licked his lips. _But I did. Is this the second time he’s done this to you, or the third? I can’t remember._ But a reminder of the seriousness. Sherlock shouldn’t be here rather than with Jim, it was bullshit. They were a king and a lord and a page of bullshit, and the castle was teeming with life.

He shrugged as if to say, I’m Not His Boss Anymore So I Can’t Punish Him, but wasn’t sure he meant that, either. Jim’s amber eyes seemed to take awhile to settle solidly on Sherlock’s. Sherlock before him, Sebastian just behind…Surreal… “Sherlock. You okay, darling?”

-

“Mhm. Make yourself at home,” Sebastian commented, leaning back against the wall.

Sherlock tugged slightly at the restraints. “How do you _think_?” he spat, but grumbled his next words, “…I was arrogant…”

-

Arrogance wasn’t a new phenomenon for anyone in the room. But these were just pleasantries, weren’t they? Delicate matters and circumstances beneath them. Couldn’t even work out where to sit – Sherlock had the chair, Seb the wall, each their corner. Fine, then. Jim made for the edge of the bed, plopping down on it with a stumble that sent his hand out to re-steady on the mattress, made him chortle. Sitting up, he cleared his throat and expression with it. I would be a poor try but he made it anyway, for funsies to see how simple things weren’t anymore. “Bash, let Sherlock get some circulation back in his hands.”

-

Sebastian’s eyes lazily looked over at the captive detective, “Only if he promises not to bolt the second he’s free.”

“That’d be a profoundly stupid idea.”

“Yeah, but as we’ve proven lately, you’re not above those.”

Sherlock’s jaw dropped, then worked as it shut, “ _Fine_ ,” he hissed begrudgingly, “I won’t leave this room.”

Moran nodded, pointing to Jim, “You witnessed.” He walked over, pulling the key from his trouser pocket, undoing the cuffs hastily.

Sherlock sighed with relief, working his fingers to get full circulation back. “Thank. You.” He then looked guiltily at Jim, “…Sorry…”

-

Jim nodded as witness and watched Sebastian like a hawk. _Was_ it all still easy, at least as orders went? Watched them both. _Talking_ to each other. Existing near each other. Getting along, enough. Stunning sight. Ignoring Sebastian’s attention and feelings for the moment, he took Sherlock’s hand. “What’re you apologizing for?” he asked simply, smiling some, tone light. “ _You’re_ not the one who started the bondage party without me...though…actually, you are…Oh, well.” Vision drifting in thought, he tsked. “I don’t see Seb holding a grudge. Do you, tiger?” Jim asked.

-

“…Should’velistenedtoyou,” Sherlock murmured, rubbing his wrist as he curled his fingers over Jim’s.

Sebastian made a fake gagging noise as he saw the slightly sweet display, but shrugged. “No blood, no foul.”

-

T _hat’s what you get for tying him up for a day, seeing us be cute. Deal with it._ But his thoughts were getting mixed-up. Sherlock had held Jim throughout fears for Sebastian, Sebastian had held Jim after rages about Sherlock. No. Business. Stay that cold course. “There’s been some blood,” Jim interjected thoughtfully. His own at Iceman and Bastian’s hands, Seb and Iceman at each other’s. Seemed nobody could really dare strike Sherlock, when it would ruin all his pretty. But also, for Jim’s sake. He understood the things Sebastian did not do and why.

“But, really…” He smiled almost coyly down at their hands, the simplicity of that touch comforting. “Both of you acted…utterly as your natures dictate…” He gave Sherlock’s hand another squeeze before releasing it and was up off the edge of the bed, beginning to slowly pace the room. “That’s the surface anyway. Be nice if we didn’t have to dig too deep under it. But apparently,” Jim addressed Sherlock as he stopped a half-foot in front of Sebastian, “You’re not allowed to leave yet. So I don’t suppose I will, either.” His head tilted as he regarded his former right-hand man curiously, with a weak but tiny smile. “Under the Colonel’s purview. I wonder what he wants.”

-

“I meant _he_ didn’t bleed,” Sebastian rolled his eyes. “All I want is some peace. Which is a _lot_ harder to obtain if I have to worry about Iceman bursting down my door.” He shot Sherlock a glare. “And apparently you know how to find me, so that makes you a loose end.”

Sherlock bit the inside of his cheek, leaning back in the chair. “And you want my silence…That goes against _my_ nature,” he said pensively.

Sebastian scoffed. “You _really_ don’t understand the position you’re in, do you?”

“Killing me would be messy,” Sherlock shrugged. “And Jim wouldn’t be happy with you either.”

“Ugh, yes. _Jim_ ,” Sebastian groaned, “Talk some sense into him, hm?”

-

“Why? It’s not like he’s that wrong,” Jim pointed out quietly, matter-of-factly. “You know I’d be pissed if you killed Sherlock. Just as Sherlock knows I’d be pissed if he got you arrested again. Everyone’s got a pushable button here. I’d say Sebastian’s have been poked at more…vigorously, for awhile, so I’d deem it unwise to do so just now, but no, that wouldn’t excuse him hurting you…” He was ending the point speaking to Sherlock but still was looking at Basher. It was nice to be so sure he’d made it out alive. “If you two can _talk_ so nicely, maybe you can come to some kind of confidentiality agreement…” Talk. _Don’t think about Sherlock high as a kite on Sebastian’s lap. Shit._

-

Sebastian and Sherlock both lifted their eyebrows. It wasn’t that surprising, Jim wanting them to get along, but it was certainly a change of pace. The sniper managed to recover a bit more easily. “You heard the man, Curly. What are your terms?”

Sherlock pursed his lips, folding his hands under his chin. “I suppose I don’t have any…As I told Jim, it was stupid to trust you at all.”

“Yep.”

Sherlock grimaced. “No need to rub it in…”

Seb shrugged. “I’m a bit antagonistic.”

“I hadn’t noticed.” It was sarcastic, but Sherlock would be lying if he said he didn’t admit to a casual undertone. “But I can keep silent, for everyone’s sake, I suppose…”

“How noble of you.”

“Thank you.”

There was a tense pause as they surveyed each other, eyes boring into each other’s, somewhere between hate and curiosity (and most certainly not lust, not with Jim watching.) Finally, Sherlock wet his lips and spoke, arms twisting over himself, “Thank you for not killing me immediately.”

“My pleasure.”

-

Was it warm in there, or just Jim exposed to their bantering at close range? Clearly they could have handled this themselves. Was Jim the middle ground of civility? Of course. Just as both their presences were keeping him from leaning one way or another. He looked between them both, lower jaw working at nothing. “Could just frame someone,” he suggested casually, breaking the silence after it stretched too long with muted tension. How well they played off each other…How much did they talk? Touch? Jim cleared his throat, blinked over at Sherlock. “You report back with _a_ cat in the bag, and Basher gets his peace…” Peace for Seb might be nonexistent without Jim, but damn it, he could still try. Sherlock on the side of justice might never agree. But when it came down to Jim presenting the idea? He didn’t feel he held the room very well, somewhat wowed by their little display, but still easier to pretend these were the biggest issues at hand. “It’s my best thought, anyway,” he added in a murmur, “But I’m pretty tired…” _And biased on all counts_. He trailed off, wandering to the window shade, peeling an inch back and peering out. Something to look at that wasn’t either of them.

-

Sebastian made a displeased grunt low in his throat, but Sherlock was the one to answer. “ _No one else_ could have made that shot,” he said, a bit defensively. Sebastian nodded, that being exactly what he was going to say. Sherlock continued, “Not that Mycroft would buy it anyway…You couldn’t have waited a week or something before getting revenge?”

“Not really…” he side-glanced Jim, even if he wasn’t looking. “That’s how statements work, after all. Quickly.”

Sherlock licked his lips, catching part of the silent message. “I see…Well. It was unmistakable.”

-

Jim listened carefully, again having to hide a small smile. They were….well, Sherlock had _complimented_ Sebastian’s work. And they were _bickering_. When it wasn’t about himself, as background noise it was charming. The sun in the window wasn’t; Jim slipped away from it, keeping thoughts to himself. Didn’t _seem_ like Sebastian had volunteered the damning note that proved Jim responsible for Mycroft’s injury…’Statement’ could mean his own revenge for bad treatment…Hm. The glance he cast between them was almost guilty, and he wavered a little where he stood. He wanted to embrace them both and it confused him. “Guess not all my ideas are genius ones,” he said resignedly, meaning the Framing no one would believe, and perched upon the desk in the room as he frowned around too many thoughts.

-

“Useful, but ultimately not feasible,” Sherlock pointed out, looking to Jim. “Could always say I never found him.”

“Because Brother Dear would _never_ see through that,” Sebastian rolled his eyes.

“Then you think of a solution.”

“Not my area,” Sebastian said ruefully.

“This may take awhile,” Sherlock sighed, throwing himself over the bed.

-

They needed guidance, Jim’s expert criminal brain, to work anything out. Sherlock’s idea wasn’t a bad one, exactly. “Sebastian _is_ good at moving underground, it’s believable enough,” he interjected softly, watching Sherlock with sympathy and interest. Had he gotten any sleep? He then glanced at Sebastian, mainly to see whether his gaze had wandered the same direction as Jim’s. Still couldn’t wrap his brain around their flirtations… “Given that you _shot_ me, I dunno if Iceman would immediately assume we’re all in bed with each other,” Jim pointed out before realizing the irony of the euphemism. “Professionally speaking.” Oh. Reaching into his pocket, Jim effected a bored tone as he touched something in it, “On that note, Bastian. Brought you a present.”

-

 _The fact some of us are sleeping together, have previously slept together, or swapped saliva where he could see might put a damper on that optimism._ “Peace offering?” he asked sarcastically, getting off the wall and walking towards Jim.

-

“Something like that.” A sign of forgiveness perhaps, that wasn’t as obvious as…falling right into Sebastian’s arms in front of Sherlock. Who, as far as Jim knew, had last heard that Seb would be spared no further kind thoughts. Jim was keeping it all together well enough. The memories of nightmares, of a million taunts with which Sebastian had blanketed his brain…they had ten years of good things to battle with for his attention and resolve. Seb got stressed and sad and his best solution was to hurt people, it was just his _way_. Especially when he’d been hurt first. Jim drew the bullet they’d taken out of his leg from his pocket, set it neatly in Sebastian’s hand, looking up at him. “I think this belongs to you.” For a few seconds, Sherlock wasn’t in the room as far as Jim’s awareness went. Just Sebastian, and his hard blue eyes, and the ghosts of everything they’d ever been to each other.

-

Sebastian just _stared_ for a moment. Rolled the oblong piece of metal in his palm before curling his fingers over it tightly. “So you remembered,” was all he could say, unsure of how to feel. It was…intense. But almost hopeless. Such great and terrible feelings, yet he could think of nothing to say. Be angry? Embarrassed for how he’d acted? Grateful? Loving? He reached forward, placing his free hand on Jim’s shoulder, all the touch he dared.

Sherlock, who had peeked up to see, raised an eyebrow. _How utterly morbid_. The thought was sadly devoid of the necessary pieces to realize what exactly was going on.

-

Jim’s face was an expressionless mask, but not on purpose: uncertainty welled beneath his skin, and he felt the drinks a little. He glanced at the hand on his shoulder, head tilting down to press his cheek to the back of it. Sebastian’s hands had done wonderful and terrible things to him over the years, and now he didn’t know what to do with them. Could probably spend hours this way. If they were alone. Jim’s chin pushed at his wrist as his head rose and he moved off the desk in one smooth motion, a strolling stalk to the bed. Jim moved onto it, comfort despite uncomfortable; caught Sherlock’s gaze and a ran a loving hand through his curls before shifting onto his back with a sigh. “I had a few drinks on the plane,” he volunteered apropos of nothing but the silence. It was another way of saying, _I’m not sure who to be right now._

-

 _Yes, let’s all just pile on my bed._ Sebastian rolled his eyes, pocketing the bullet. “Somehow I can tell.” But…a drunk Jim in his bed wasn’t the worst thing ever.

Sherlock was less amused. He shifted away from Jim’s hand, sitting up, taking up little space. He’d just been tied to a radiator and a chair for nothing. “Why exactly did you get smashed before a confrontation in which I was a hostage?”

“Guest-age,” Sebastian corrected, Sherlock shooting him a dirty look.

-

 _Really?_ Sherlock couldn’t figure that out? Was now really the best time to get bitter? Jim’s brow knitted a fraction. To point out that Sebastian was hardly unmanageable to the right person, while also being apprehensive about seeing him…but both were true. “Nerves,” Jim answered pointedly, giving Sherlock a level look, a hand to his cheek turning his attention gently back, away from glaring at Bash. “And I’m not _smashed_ ,” he added, hand dropping once more to the mattress. “Just…a little hazy.” Jim licked his lips. “Besides, barely a confrontation with you two getting along so well…” Proud of their restraint and touched by it. His own was of another sort, but equally important. Diplomatic. Insensitive to reference their past encounter? Probably. But being cavalier seemed very good armor against the rest.

-

“He sent you a picture of me _restrained_ ,” Sherlock replied, “It could’ve easily, and likely, been a hostile situation.” He folded his arms over, eyes flitting back to Sebastian. “Even if Moran is generally considerate of you, the same isn’t applied to me.”

Sebastian scoffed. “ _You_ were attacking _me_. And I _still_ didn’t bruise your skinny arse.” He sat back in the chair, “I’ve killed for so much less than that.”

-

A smile was inappropriate. And yet.

“He has,” Jim confirmed lightly. “Sherlock, some of my work you so _admire_ , wouldn’t have been possible without Sebastian. I know,” Jim waved some, “You respect that much already without having to like him. Especially right now. But. I personally quite appreciate that he hasn’t harmed you. And I know he knows I appreciate it, and why.” He blinked slowly up at Sherlock. “Just like you know I appreciate that you’re sitting here with me rather than raising the alert.” _Shut up in advance, Tiger, we all know you could keep him from doing that._ “We’re all working off good faith as long as we’re here. And I’d argue that _much_ consideration has been applied.”

-

Sherlock gave him a soured face. “He took my phone.” _Though, if I had it, yes, I wouldn’t be raising the alarm, if only because you’re here as well._

“It’s in my pants,” Sebastian added, pointing casually at his crotch.

-

Oh, for the love of… A low chuckle sputtered helplessly in the back of Jim’s throat and he turned his gaze ceilingward. _Must the Universe test me_? Eyes tinged with mirth when they rolled towards Sebastian, Jim said quite seriously, “You’re not allowed to make me laugh, Basher, it’s a hostage situation.” _And a damn sorry excuse for one, at that_. “Give Sherlock his phone.” Jim pressed a small kiss to his fiance’s shoulder. “He puts extra pockets for weapons in his jeans,” he explained in a murmur.

-

“No, really,” Sebastian snickered to himself, tapping over his crotch, clear there was something metallic there.

“Pockets, hm?” Sherlock huffed stubbornly. “He shoved it down there to further provoke me. As if being bound wasn’t humiliating enough…”

“Oh, pipe down, you baby. We already covered the fact that you’re lucky to be alive.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “Give it back.”

“Or else what?”

“…Jim said to do so.”

“Yes, run to mummy dearest, see how that works out for you.”

Sherlock flushed slightly in embarrassment. Running to Jim. How low he had fallen.

Indignantly, he pulled himself up away from Jim, standing up to tower over Sebastian, who didn’t seem concerned. “Give it back, or I will take it back,” he issued in challenge.

Sebastian said nothing, eyes widening in surprise. _That_ wasn’t supposed to be an option, was it? He glanced over at Jim, curious as to his response.

-

 _Humiliating? He’s tied you up before, somehow you keep coming back for more._ Inwardly sardonic, rather than aloud. Sebastian really shouldn’t call Sherlock a baby. Sherlock really shouldn’t do anything to get his wrist broken. But wasn’t this _fascinating_ to watch.

Everything in Sherlock’s posture was the exact sort of fire Jim would have loved the chance to play with. And he knew Seb could return it tenfold, but with one glance Jim’s way, seemed to assure he wasn’t going to. Actually gave a damn what Jim felt, watching this, rather than barrel into a contest the way Sherlock was. Could get dangerous. Everyone should have had a cigarette rather than get testy. If they went on like _this_ , Jim might need one.

They might fight. They might end up all over each other. The tension was thick enough that Jim would have loved being in the middle of it. But he could only watch, eyes slightly glazed. “…you know it bothers me when you two touch each other,” he murmured matter-of-factly, loud enough for both to hear. It was a reminder that it had indeed bothered him, yes, whether for harm or good – but was provocative, too. Iceman’s blurry surveillance pictures had nothing on Sherlock and Sebastian staring each other down. And there were so many different types of Bothered. Memories of Sherlock’s _dominant_ side popped into his head…of the many times Sebastian had gotten fed up enough with Jim’s Napoleon Complex to shove him up against a wall….Oh, no. Oh, no, that wasn’t good.

-

Sebastian smirked, a slight twinge of realization. Oh, he knew that glint in Jim’s eye all too well. He folded his arms behind his head, leaning back, “You heard the man.”

Sherlock stomped his foot. “Well, if I can’t, then just give it back.”

“I’m not after his approval anymore.” A lie, but it was fun to pretend he wasn’t utterly dependent.

Sherlock looked frustratedly at Jim, a look of _well, what am I supposed to do_ apparent on his face. In addition, a look of _I will do it if I have no other option_ in his curled fists and sucked-in cheeks.

-

Maybe ‘baby’ wasn’t so far off, considering Sherlock looked a second or two away from throwing a fit. But Sherlock wasn’t expected to know how to handle Sebastian. Nor was he, by Jim’s words just then, allowed to.

All in all, good thing Sherlock was looking at Jim’s face and not his lap.

“He’s insufferable, isn’t he?” Jim tsked, shaking his head. Because he was a good actor when it mattered, and at the moment, with a rightfully peeved detective and a daring sniper goading each other, it did.

It looked like taking pity. Being helpful. _Didn’t it?,_ Jim wondered as he slid off the bed, then realizing it probably didn’t matter what it looked like. Not even to Sherlock, who knew by now how good Jim thought he looked and sounded when he got heated. _Not my fault you two want to have a pissing contest right before my eyes._ If Jim were suspicious enough, he might even have wondered if they’d planned it. In some alternate, unimaginably simpler universe, perhaps. “Keep your hands behind your head,” Jim barked lightly at Sebastian as he stood next to him, side of his leg pressing to the blond’s. He doubted very much that Sherlock would enjoy the visual as much as Seb would the attempt, but as casually as he could Jim leaned down, hand slipping below Sebastian’s waistband. _Yeah, this ought to shut you both up for a second._

-

Sherlock stepped back, blinking rapidly as he tried to reconcile what he was seeing with the scales of fairness in his head. Perhaps whatever Moran had between his legs was mundane to Jim, and he thought little of going there, while it’d be a significant event for Sherlock. But on the flipside, it wouldn’t really _do_ much for him (or so he told himself), whereas the past suggested it still affected Jim. But on the outside, he was speechless, mouth hanging open.

Sebastian, meanwhile, anchored his hands hard behind his skull, true to command. That did not stop him from moaning obscenely, even if it was entirely faked, leg rubbing lightly over Jim’s thigh, eyes salaciously scraping over the bulge in the criminal’s trousers.

Sherlock sputtered, backing up entirely, arms and back flat against the wall. Cheap attempt at provocation, but with a rapidly rising temperature, he had to admit it was _working_.

-

Jim rolled his eyes and smacked Sebastian’s leg audibly with his free hand. “Don’t be such a slut,” he muttered distractedly, as if none of this mattered at all, when some part of his brain seemed to suggest that moving onto Sebastian’s lap would be a very good idea. “Not doing this for _your_ benefit.” Jesus, Seb really had shoved it down his pants. How the fuck had he managed walking around like that? A little amused, Jim got a hand around the phone and pulled it out, biting his tongue all the while. The saving grace was knowing just how bad Sebastian wanted him, always; that Jim still had all the power. A heady and soothing revelation, though he never did truly doubt it.

Jim gave the phone a perfunctory wipe against the lower hem of his shirt, standing straight up again. The look he gave Sebastian was somewhere between Fuck Me and You’re Lucky I Didn’t Tear Your Dick Off. He turned slowly to look at Sherlock, eyebrows raised, unable to hide his arousal if he wanted to stay outwardly casual. “Here,” he held the phone out. _See how easy that was?_ Blanching some, when he took in Sherlock’s faint blush. Oho. So maybe he _had_ appreciated the visual. Which might’ve made Jim angry, remembering that Sherlock had clambered onto Sebastian and not the other way around. But at the moment it was hard to tell who had accidentally done what to whom. He pretended to ignore it entirely, for a moment – “Don’t think anything of it,” he implored Sherlock softly – but damn Sebastian’s atrocious influence, added dreamily with a tilt of his head, eyes raking Sherlock’s body, “Unless you want to.”

-

Regardless of the slap, even _spurred on_ by it, Seb moaned again. He gave Jim a wink as he pulled off, saying nothing – the message had already been received, loud and clear.

Sherlock didn’t hold his hand out for his phone. He was somewhere between anger and arousal, trying to fight them both with indifference. He pinched where he could, arms folded over his chest, keeping a lid on distraction. His voice came out raggedly, swallowing, unsure he’d heard correctly. “What?”

-

“Well, you seem deep in thought,” Jim pointed out, tossing the phone to the bed as he considered. Sherlock and Sebastian, Sebastian and Jim. What remained was the couple two weeks off from a wedding they’d barely planned yet, and Sebastian was in just a good enough mood that maybe it wouldn’t break his tired heart to see. “I can’t help but wonder what about…” Jim stepped nearer to Sherlock, feeling free to touch him without gagging noises and so stroked his arm delicately. “Mad at me?” Jim asked, eyes boring upwards, searching Sherlock’s face. “Or maybe you’re mad at him, for being hard as a rock against your phone.” Seeds didn’t have to be entirely true to be planted. “He can’t really help it around me, it’s just one of those things…Don’t be mad,” he kissed Sherlock’s neck once, reverently. To say nothing of his own obvious arousal. Jim could walk it off if he had to. And Seb would suffer for that pretend moan, if he couldn’t stand seeing this, but the wink made Jim think maybe he could. Liquid Courage had its hand on the mind and body of the mercurial criminal, who was suddenly seeing the appeal of forgiving them their inebriated kisses, so long as they might happen again with his involvement.

-

Seb nearly fell out of his seat. Of course, he could choose to be a dick about the PDA going on in front of him, but that would probably count him out of what _amazing_ things could possibly be happening right now.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes as Jim finished speaking. _I see what you’re doing_. Yes. He saw. But did he oppose? A bit. The _experience_ itself, even the idea had blood flowing southward. However, when not on drugs, Sherlock was a forward-thinker. Sex, a smoke, and then what? There were strings, there were always strings with sex, and he was more mistrusting than most. “…Are you getting at something?”

-

Jim smiled some. _We can’t hide from each other, any of us. We’ve all talked too much_. “It could be nothing, honey,” Jim assured, then moved in to speak right beside Sherlock’s ear. “Or be any kind of something you want.”

 _He shot your brother, he shot me, he’s genuinely talked about wringing your neck from time to time – but damned if he isn’t hot and fun_.

“I admit I’m not accustomed to sharing…No more than I am from keeping you from something you might want…” _And that I always will, and that Sebastian won’t turn down._ He nuzzled at Sherlock’s neck, aware that Basher was probably feeling woefully neglected but this was somewhat delicate. Only it was confusing, wasn’t it? For all involved.

Jim’s gaze darted to Sebastian from beside Sherlock’s chin, curious as to where he really stood, and whether he’d make another brazen move to make his stance known. He didn’t have to keep his hands behind his head anymore, after all. If one touch had put such a look on Sherlock’s face, another might just seal the deal. “So I’m still curious. What you were thinking about. And whether sharing with the class…wouldn’t end better than most hostage situations…”


	3. Ch. 2

Sherlock pursed his lips, swallowing slightly. He suddenly felt very exposed, as if he were already naked, two sets of eyes judging him, waiting for him. He wasn’t opposed to the idea in itself – if anything, it’d be a pleasant distraction (even if lack of data resulted in him not knowing what the procedure was.) “Are…Well, yes, I agree…As long as it’s something everyone wants.” Jim was an obvious yes. Sebastian was less clear – in it purely for Jim, or for all of it? Sherlock saw a certain appeal in Moran – well-muscled, tall, practical, somewhat similar to Jim with a less whimsical nature. But in that similar genius, the potential for ulterior motive. “I do, at least.”

-

 _I know you do. And I’m okay with it._ Jim’s hand moved down Sherlock’s arm to rest at his hip, thumb circling. “Then maybe…” Jim murmured, pressing a soft kiss to Sherlock’s lips, sucking in a sharp breath. Allowing himself to be scorched by the promising potential. “You should go see…if he wants to kiss and make up.” Because theirs was the most recent argument. Because Jim was almost afraid of how he’d react to Sebastian in front of Sherlock. Because Jim very much wanted to see them kiss and make up. Of course Sebastian could hear what he said. Of course Sebastian would want to kiss Jim more, or didn’t want to kiss Sherlock at all if he couldn’t rip Jim’s soul out by doing so. He stepped back a couple inches, eyes darting again to the sniper. _I’m trusting you both. With each other._

-

Sherlock wet his lips. Even now, with explicit permission, it had a tinge of guilt. He nodded, walking over to Sebastian, purpose in his steps. He stood in front of Moran, clearing his throat. _Well?_ He asked in an eyebrow raise.

Sebastian was stunned, staring at him dumbly. Somehow he’d never seen Sherlock as the type. But he’d been up to all sorts of naughty things lately. Still silent, he patted his lap. Sherlock crawled on without a moment’s thought, pressing their lips together. Unsure at first, seeming almost like a novel act, the drug-induced haze still elusive in his memory. But soon Sebastian clocked back in, kissing him vigorously, hands combing through his hair. He wasn’t who he _wanted_ to be kissing, but it was appealing all the same, sparking something deep as he knew Jim was watching.

-

He felt a million things simultaneously, and for both of them.

 _He’s mine. That’s my spot._ Habit of jealousy.

 _He’s beautiful and I want you to understand that._ Peacekeeping.

 _Oh, hell._ The purest, most violent stab in the gut of arousal.

Jim’s tongue was dry where it rested against his lower lip. They looked all wrong together at first, some trick of the mind that yelled at him, said _No, Not That_. But the curve of Sherlock’s arse against Sebastian’s strong, denim-clad thighs. Sebastian’s fingers catching the loveliest curls Jim had ever seen between them. The occasional flash of tongues as their mouths reconnected.

He felt like crying.

He felt like coming.

He was shaking.

Need propelled Jim away from the wall, eyes loving and predatory both as he moved to sit on the bed. He could feel their heat. Knew exactly what both were tasting of each other. Dazed with voyeurism but eager for involvement, Jim took Sherlock’s hand and drew it up to his mouth, lips wrapping around two fingers and sucking slowly. A little sensory tease for Sherlock, one Jim indulged in giving with a moan he couldn’t control, free hand a fist around the bedsheets and eyes heavy-lidded as they sought Sebastian’s. _Remember how good I am with my mouth, tiger?_

-

This was wrong on so many levels, even Sebastian knew that. Yet that only seemed to /add/ to how hot it was. He felt as Sherlock’s hand was pulled away, side-eyeing Jim. Oh, how he was playing at being innocent, but the sniper knew otherwise. Somehow he’d planed this, and made him complicit in his actions. Very Jim. To torment him further, his hands dropped from Sherlock’s hair, cupping his arse and grinding him in his lap, earning him a surprised squeal.

Sherlock was having a similar dilemma, but had resolved not to think too hard on it. He’d already started it of his own free will, too far now to reconsider. Regret may come later, but over-thinking was less of an issue when thoughts were so wonderfully shoved away by two people at once.

-

Clever, clever tiger. Jim nearly bit down in eagerness and knee-jerk reaction to how deeply that sound struck him. He stared at Sebastian’s hands, the sight sending an obliterating rush of arousal through him, pulse throbbing between his legs. _Yes, absolute best end to a hostage situation, I’m a genius. Oh, my loves…_ Tongue swiping between Sherlock’s fingers, Jim withdrew finally with a soft gasp, blinking. “You’re gonna break the chair, the bed’s got more room,” he suggested in a deep and throaty, breathless purr, jaw lax after speaking, eyes massive and blown black.

-

Difficult to breathe, Sebastian was so demanding. Sherlock had trouble keeping up, gasping between kisses, clinging to the larger man like a life raft. It was significantly different than Jim or the Woman – they were more careful with him, as they should be. They cared. It was clear that Moran did not – past actions aside, right now he was _taking_. Scarily perceptive, he quickly found ways to make Sherlock squirm, but only for his own pleasure. It was empirically interesting, being used and exploited. Erotic in its own way. Novel.

It was close to a full minute after Jim spoke that they came up for air. Sebastian’s eyes had also gone black with lust, picking up every detail of Sherlock’s face. His hands clenched hard as he stood up, carrying the detective with him, tossing him on the mattress beside Jim like a caveman providing an offering. He knelt on the edge, taking Jim’s face in his hands, kissing him in much the same fashion.

Sherlock, disoriented, lay back, reminded of an orca playing with its food.

-

Jim wanted to say, _Be careful with him_ , but the thought died before reaching his tongue. Sebastian was his own dangerous entity, and if Sherlock had been attracted to him at all, there was no façade that may have created that; variety was the spice of life, and wasn’t it interesting if Sherlock wanted the same things of Basher that Jim always had. He had half-turned, eager to lavish Sherlock’s gorgeous neck with kisses because Sebastian hadn’t –

But there was Tiger, making of his undying hunger a brutally beautiful attack that spoke volumes of his starvation.

Jim’s own spoke back as he keened into the kiss, eyes siding closed, gripping the back of Sebastian’s head with one hand as the other blindly scrambled for any part of Sherlock he could find and ended up roaming his upper thigh. Contact that reminded him there were three in the bed, not just two. He’d struggled with who to be and how much to let himself feel, but now there was no choice, not with Sebastian crashing into him. He wanted everything suddenly. To bring Sherlock off with his mouth while being taken by Sebastian, or Sherlock pulsing into him by the force of Seb behind, or getting lost in watching them and accepting whatever they wanted of each other, or or or –

The ideas flashed fast in his head, all boiling down to Want and Need and More Trust Than Seb Deserved, making him impatient as he sucked at Sebastian’s tongue, hips jutting up. He hooked a leg around Seb’s, holding him in place before breaking the kiss with a growl and turning to Sherlock, grazing lips and teeth over the sensitive skin of his neck. “Want you both,” he murmured, sounding distinctly _lost_. “And badly…” A ‘thank you’ might have sounded better than a plea, to both of them for entertaining the idea even this far, but it was too obvious for the voicing.

-

A bit disappointed at the loss of the kiss, Sebastian was still soothed, reassured he was wanted by Jim’s wrapping around him. To make up for it he began sucking and biting at Jim’s neck, fingers sliding down his body to undo his dress slacks.

Sherlock hummed as he was brought back to the present, carding a hand through Jim’s hair. He wasn’t quite sure how far he wanted to be involved, but he was alright like this. It was affecting enough just to watch the animalistic display.

-

“Oh, f-fuck…” Jim stuttered on an exhale, the scrape and pull of Sebastian’s teeth overwhelming, and such a contrast to Sherlock’s gentleness. Jim was torn, wanting equal attention for all, and also wanting the clothes away as quickly as possible. It was a _good_ thing Sebastian wasn’t being particularly tender – no signs of the bittersweetness of having separated and seeing each other again. Simpler if it was merely lust – embarrassing how easily he fell for that, though. A lazy smile crept across his face, looking at Sherlock, hand stroking up his thigh to palm the bulge in his trousers. Revealing, satisfying and comforting simultaneously to know Sherlock understood some of Sebastian’s charms. No sign of misgivings about the rough treatment – he looked _curious_ as much as anything else. “Talk to me…” he prompted Sherlock, wanting to make sure it was all alright, make sure squirming up against Sebastian for friction wasn’t the worst crime he’d ever committed in Sherlock’s estimation. Jim was past being able to control any of it, palming Sherlock over the fabric even as he wanted to pull the other closer, too, hand sliding under Sebastian’s shirt, nails raking down his chest.

-

“About what…?” Sherlock stated, shivering a little under Jim’s touch. He rolled slightly, kissing him softly, flitting his tongue between his lips.

Sebastian slowly pried Jim’s trousers open, rolling his hips as he went, desperate for friction. His fingers crawled under his waistband, working his already hard cock lightly, groaning against his neck. His other hand quickly began unbuttoning Jim’s shirt, blood boiling, overtaken with need.

-

Jim panted into the kiss, tongue flicking and swirling temptingly against Sherlock’s own with a soft moan. “Anything. Tell me – nng! Bash…” What you want, he’d meant to say before being so crudely interrupted by being stroked. His mouth fell open against Sherlock’s, fingers curling into his waistband, and Jim trembled. He kissed Sherlock again with fervor before breaking off, grabbing Sebastian by the hair and tugging his head back for attention. “Slow down, m’already overwhelmed,” he directed in a breathy rush, meeting Seb’s gaze levelly. Jim’s stare was _livid_ with hunger. His hand loosened and slid down Sebastian’s neck, very nearly loving though his eyes relayed another message entirely. _And after teasing and flirting with him, don’t you dare leave Sherlock out._

-

It was a bit taxing, trying to find a balance of attention. But Sebastian wasn’t exactly as hot for Sherlock as he was for Jim – yet that look was hard to deny. _Besides_ , he thought, his hand leaving Jim’s pants and beginning to undo Sherlock’s shirt, _What fun would it be if it ended now?_ He made short work of the buttons, blouse hanging open, stroking over the smooth, pearly skin with his fingers. There was _something_ to be appreciated here, even if it wasn’t quite Jim.

Sherlock was also overwhelmed, but in a more senses-oriented perspective rather than sexual energy. It was good to feel so intensely, even if he couldn’t quite place it all. He practically melted under Sebastian’s touch – a fair sight gentler than the rest of his show – gasping against Jim’s mouth. Somehow, his hand found Moran’s thigh and _god, it was firm_. He stroked it with purpose, getting _something_ out of it, pressing his body against both of them.

-

Good. Good. Jim could shrug out of his shirt now, slide his trousers off, and feel a little less like he was primed to explode at any moment. He watched Sebastian’s hand almost warily, and felt something melt inside of him. So gentle. He knew those fingers wanted to wrap around Sherlock’s throat. But they didn’t. Oh, good tiger. _Thank you, thank you, you love me that much_.

Jim peppered nips along his neck in silent appreciation before he returned to Sherlock, kissing him languidly, calmer despite straining the fabric of his pants. Oh, that gasp, music to his ears. “…I’ve never done this before,” Jim admitted conversationally. Not that it bothered him any, not that he’d ever known two people he’d have wanted to as much as them, but to ease any thoughts of inexperience that may have plagued Sherlock. Dipping his head down between a tangle of arms, he drew Sherlock’s nipple between his lips and sucked hard sans teeth, curling his body so that one leg slipped between Sebastian’s, and could feel one of the sniper’s between his own. He pushed back against it, another admission falling from his lips before the first could garner commentary, this one throatier, more passionate, brain-to-mouth filter lost in the bottom of an empty airplane-sized liquor bottle. “And I don’t know how you two want to play this, but I think I need _someone_ in my mouth before I go crazy.” Jim grinned. _Any volunteers?_

-

Sherlock and Seb exchanged glances, a silent, collective _hmm_. Of course the detective had never done this but he was surprised to hear Jim never had - _less experienced than I anticipated…_

But this was hardly Moran’s first – heck, he’d done it little more than two months ago, though that seemed like a horribly distant memory now. After a moment more of staring, he finally smirked, too needy to be bickering about a scenario that could only go well. “You heard the man, Curly,” Sebastian winked, finding the detective’s waistband, tugging suggestively. “Down with the pants.”

Sherlock, unable to think of a reasonable counterargument, did so, lifting his lips, letting his lower half be exposed. His erection was admittedly only half-mast, though he attributed that mostly to nerves. He kept still, curiosity compelling him to watch as Moran did something similar and _dear god_ , he almost swore aloud, _How was that supposed to fit inside another human being?!_

-

Jim couldn’t feel anything but gleeful, seeing Sebastian charm the pants off Sherlock quite literally. Hm, but Sherlock could be harder. Have to work on that. Jim moved off the bed, kneeling on the floor, immediately laying kisses to his thighs. Was Sherlock really alright? Jim followed his line of vision, and chuckled lowly as if reading his mind, eyebrows raising in amusement. _Yes, he’s impressive. See why I kept him around so long?_ But that was mean to say. Might get him smacked. Not that Jim was really opposed to that.

“What can I say, I like a challenge,” Jim purred, craning up and licking at Sebastian’s hipbone. He pressed a kiss to it, mouth watering. _You’ll get your turn. If you want it sooner, just gonna have to make me_. Sebastian’s presence, energy always dragged the most salacious side out of Jim. “But you’re nothing to sneeze at, either, baby,” Jim murmured fondly to Sherlock with a wry smile, leaning down once more. _Let’s get you to proving as much_ , he thought as he sucked at the pale flesh of Sherlock’s inner thigh, but didn’t waste too much time lest Sebastian be taunted to fury for the waiting. _Compelling thought…_ Jim’s lips wrapped around Sherlock, tonguing at the slit before sinking all the way down with a groan.

-

Sherlock yelped, but it was quickly muffled by Sebastian smashing their lips together again. Though it wasn’t so much a kiss as successive lip bites, nips and sucking. Not that Sherlock minded, as he didn’t have the processing power to mind. He groaned softly with each breath, gripping the edge of the mattress, grounding his body feebly to keep himself from coming immediately. One of Sebastian’s hands found Jim’s hair, gripping it hard, pulling back and forth, controlling the rhythm, starting slow. Made it easier not to be jealous if he had some say in it (though, it was hard to be envious when they were both getting something out of it.) His other hand began to stroke himself as fast as he dared, practically edging already, hips unconsciously thrusting into his hand.

-

What was it about watching them kiss? Cupid’s bow against stubble, porcelain against familiar scars. Jim had had a million kisses with one, and would have yet a million with the other. It was _relaxing_ to enjoy the beauty of it rather than be jealous. Relaxing in one sense, anyhow. The little noises they were both drawing from Sherlock were hitting Jim’s senses like caresses, and combined with the real caress that lasted for all of a moment before tightening, pulling, forcing. Just the right amount of rough and Jim whimpered around Sherlock on his tongue, a visible tremor working down his body. Sebastian in bedroom control, and pleasing Sherlock at the same time; had…had the plane crashed, and somehow all his sins charitably stricken from record as to have landed him in Heaven? He’d like Hell better, if Heaven didn’t look and feel just like this – nothing could ever match up. Jim was not only shakingly aroused beyond reason – he was happy. Eyes roaming up to Sebastian’s cock, Jim felt his gut flip. _Gimme. Take me_. But couldn’t form the words with his mouth full. Was Seb really going to waste all over the sheets, Sherlock’s chest, or pretty mouth? Pull him up by the hair and ravage his own? Each thought more deliciously filthy than the last and all made his mind reel and spin out like a car on black ice, made sweat break out. His hips squirmed, spine dipping in the middle, backside damn near begging for Sebastian’s attention with how Jim wiggled. There were simply a stupid amount of quality pheromones in the room. His hand slipped low, squeezing his own cock through the damp fabric, the other drifting between Sherlock’s parted legs, just enough focus remaining to circle a fingertip around his entrance; not pushing, but playing encouragingly on his fiancé’s sensitive nerves all the same.

-

Sherlock was nearly whining at each hard thrust, toes curling, pulling up strands of the carpet fibers with them. His stomach tensed, coiling hard, fighting it with every ounce of restraint he had left, some small, removed part of him knowing this whole situation would sour quickly.

For Sebastian, everything was remarkably _alert_. Sucking face or not, he felt the smallest changes in body heat, in body language, everything so bloody _necessary_. He pulled off Sherlock a moment, panting, wanting a long look at Jim. An odd pang of nostalgia, longing for home, the familiarity that utterly coquettish offering really had underneath. “On the bed,” he gasped, trying to focus on one crisis at a time, the throbbing in his hand the more urgent. He let go of Jim’s hair, pulling Sherlock further up to sit against the wall at the head of the bed, Sebastian at the foot of it as he waited for Jim to resume position.

-

Easy to tell from the look on Sebastian’s face that he was reliving it all vicariously through Sherlock. It was strangely touching. And Jim, well, he might have been happy enough on the floor, getting himself off to the sight of them both so hard, all the possibilities as he dreamed them up. The pause delayed that. Whether that was good or bad, Jim didn’t know. But when (Former) Colonel Sebastian Moran told one to get on the bed, they got off their knees and got on the bed.

But the thoughts behind heeding weren’t that complex in the heat of the moment. Jim managed dizzily to comply, panting as he landed half over Sherlock. Seeing an opportunity where there hadn’t been before, he darted up and whispered, “I love you,” as softly as possible before he wriggled back down against the mattress, a show of shifting knees and thighs and hips for Sebastian’s amusement and thus his own. Really could’ve made the choice to honor the silent promise of earlier, that Seb would have his turn, but Jim was burning up from the inside out and _needed_ to be touched, and less sure that Sherlock had his wits about him enough to do it. Besides. He had a real love for Sherlock’s rich, baritone moans. Every single one felt like a prize. Jim slipped his hand back where it had been, stroking at the crease of Sherlock’s perfect arse as he took him into his mouth again, tongue pushing up, eyes on his lover’s face as anticipation for whatever Sebastian wanted to do shivered through him.

-

Sebastian took a moment to _really_ appreciate the sight. _Sharing_ Jim had never been on his to-do list, but it was very cleansing to see him so _happy_ , when more often than not his love had been fraught with anger or despair. But a small voice of his own despair spoke up, wondering if this was always how he was with the detective.

Well, fuck that – he was best at what he did, plain and simple. Sebastian crawled up behind Jim, fingers parting his cheeks, tongue taking a definitive swipe at his entrance. A slight tease before he found a slow, utterly tantalizing rhythm designed specifically to torment Jim. An inward prod every so often, but never very far.

Sherlock felt very passive, grateful for the moment’s reprieve. But he wasn’t sure what else to do. He threaded his fingers through Jim’s hair, gripping hard but not tugging, worried about choking him, groaning with each skillful bob of his head.

-

It wouldn’t do just to tickle Sherlock; that was hardly proper treatment at all, and Jim wanted to watch his composure dissolve completely. Loved, loved watching Sherlock go blank, give him the peace of mind of mindlessness. He brought his hand up to his mouth, adding two fingers to a slow suck, saliva coating them as he tongued the tiny slit. There wasn’t enough lube in the world for everything he would have liked to do with the two of them, but for this, it suited fine. Jim’s head dipped down again until tight curls brushed his nose, moaning around Sherlock at the back of his throat, hand returning to circle again and push in a short-manicured fingertip.

And then there was Sebastian, who always hit his target for shooting Jim’s composure straight to hell. The consulting criminal’s eyes rolled back as heat flooded him, a moan ripped from the depths of his chest and flying off into a choked whimper at the delicious, nerve-searching pressure of Sebastian’s tongue. Jim bucked back against it, needing more, cursing in his brain – want to fuck Sherlock while Bastian fucked him, wasn’t going to beg but wanted wanted wanted, felt near to bursting with how much he wanted. His finger drove further into Sherlock’s body, seeking his prostate without the presence of mind to put much skill to it, brushing it almost by accident as heat overtook him. Catching heaving breaths when he could, Jim reached down and pumped himself at the same pace he’d have liked to give Sherlock, faster than Seb was going, muscles tensing all over, oh, if Sebastian stopped now Jim might _have_ to call Iceman’s people to kill him.

-

Too soon, too fucking soon! Sebastian could feel it, tension conducted from Jim’s body like a live wire. But Forever might be too soon in this case. Ah, well. Sebastian readjusted Jim, angling the shorter man’s hips up so he could balance without his hands, one now working slowly into Jim alongside his tongue, the other dropping to bring himself off. A shame. If they’d had more time, or even after this particular orgasm, they might find time to get supplies to do this properly…

Sherlock was bordering on incoherent, whimpering ragged, biting down on his lower lip to try and save face. No such luck. Moment of inevitability. His thighs tensed, helplessly squeezing Jim’s arm, muscles, body, _everything_ ready to burst. His hand shot up, clamping down on it with his teeth to suppress the deep, dark moan that erupted as he came, pulsing into Jim’s throat, almost passing out with the force of it.

-

If his mouth weren’t full Jim would have been goading Sherlock on as he watched, felt him fall apart. Encouragements roared psychically from his brain to his lover’s: _yes, honey, come on, go off, come for me, yes, yes_ , tears springing to his eyes as Sebastian’s gave him more, just e-fucking-nough. The energy between them was indescribable, electric, making every nerve sing as he struggled not to choke on Sherlock, bitter fluid on his tongue as he gasped and trembled. He couldn’t hold out with Sebastian doing that, pleasure ripping through Jim’s body as he came with an incoherent shout, limbs buckling but for his still-tugging hand. Heaven, bliss, the perfect storm of lust galvanizing him to withdraw from Sherlock, to scoot away and off from Sebastian’s hand quickly – two down, one to go.

Gleaming with sweat, heart racing madly, Jim scrambled to turn, reaching for Sebastian’s hips and gripping as if for dear life. “Give me,” he demanded in a rasping growl as aftershocks thudded through him, immediately parting friction-reddended lips over Sebastian’s cock, displacing the need for the sniper’s hand with his own hot, wet mouth.

-

Sherlock drooped back against the wall, breathing hard, barely aware of what was going on around him. He watched through heavily lidded eyes, nothing quite seeming _real_ , as if he’d stumbled upon some sort of intense pornographic universe that existed only within the confines of this hotel room.

Sebastian was confused for a moment, keening as his hand was knocked away. But oh, was Jim a man of endless surprises. He groaned, the callouses of his hand replaced deftly with the familiar wet heat. Swearing, it was both out of sheer amazement and cursing the fact that he wouldn’t be able to drag this out. A hand swung out behind him, keeping him propped up to watch, the other palm finding the back of Jim’s head, hard in his throat and _oh_. He shuddered, coming suddenly, surprise and the already thrumming build-up spewing from his body.

-

There was something so familiar about Sebastian’s hand at the back of his head, something he’d not even been aware he achingly missed until it was an option again, for the briefest time. He blinked dazedly up at the blond, eyes evincing an inscrutable mix of pain and gratitude that all seemed right in the world. And then it was over, Jim vibrating a stuttering moan as his features tightened, the second near-choke in so short a span throwing him off just a little, throat clenching around Seb as it worked. Couldn’t _move_ , ground into Sebastian’s groin, had to wait until the hand fell away before he slipped his mouth off the rigid flesh, panting. Flushed and disheveled, human wreckage; _happy_ wreckage. Jim let himself fall gently back, body slack as it landed between Sherlock’s legs, one thigh the perfect pillow as he tried to catch his breath. Lazily stroking Sherlock’s calf, a long and satisfied purr of a sigh as he licked his lips. There’d likely be awkwardness and hell to pay but it could wait a couple of minutes, couldn’t it? Just. Just a minute or two to breathe, and sink into the temporary but perfect solution to their discord on which they’d all collaborated. Chest still heaving, Jim smiled through the haze. _This should have happened months ago._

-

Sherlock couldn’t move. Or couldn’t find the will to, whatever. Something about this was profoundly satisfying, and probably deserved pondering. But now, head fuzzy, body drained, was not the time. He settled for moving his hands to rest on Jim’s chest, fingers tracing circles.

Gasping, it was maybe microseconds of bliss before Sebastian got another dose of the disheartening. Immediately, Jim was back on Sherlock. Of course. It was clearer and clearer the choice to be made. He ran a hand through his hair, not wanting to dwell too much. He got off the bed, legs still jelly and ungainly, grabbing a pack of smokes and a lighter off the dresser, quickly lighting one and letting _that_ warmth fill him instead.

-

Though he lay on Sherlock he watched Sebastian; alright, so his posture was little inviting and curled into Sherlock so, but still Jim thought him up and away rather quickly. He’d almost have liked—no, that wasn’t fair on them to have liked.

Pacing tiger, hidden woes.

They were taking up _his_ room’s bed, too.

Jim took the subtle cues in stride. Frankly, he couldn’t bring himself to care enough when that had been magnificent, and charged with the unspeakable and unspoken.

“I think we could all do with one of those,” Jim imposed further in a drawl once he could speak again, neck craning to look up at Sherlock for confirmation or denial of a want of cigarettes, and something else too. How he was. Whether he’d seen anything unforgivable, unlovable, or had simply enjoyed the spectacular rarity of any sort of agreement between them all, let alone one that ended so satisfactorily.

-

“Mm.” Sebastian hummed in agreement, tossing the pack and lighter over, landing neatly next to Jim’s thigh.

Sherlock smirked, leaning forward, taking the cigs. He lit one quickly, inhaling before he had the chance to think of much else.

-

He watched the smoke as it puffed out towards the ceiling from two different sources, but in the end Jim didn’t indulge himself. Could steal a drag off theirs if he wanted to. He lounged against Sherlock, breaths slowly evening back out as he considered everything. Found himself retroactively sorry – the only kind of sorry there was – for having been angered at their previous encounter, but the spirit of that had still been different. Cruel from one, thoughtless from the other. Apologizing for the anger would be quite out of place, as odd as thanking them would be. Nothing was really _solved_ , nor did it imply prolonged peace…though given the personal nature of what had occurred, forthrightness didn’t seem too out-of-bounds. “Think that was a one-time thing?” Jim asked softly, plainly of them both. Best to know now, rather than expect or hope. Post-orgasm was one of the few circumstances in which Jim was ever so direct.

-

Sebastian’s jaw clenched, biting down on the cig. _Likely_. Meaning a ton of things, none of which he was ready to deal with. Top of that jumbled, insane list was that might’ve been the last time Jim ever touched him. _This was a great idea. This was a stupid idea_. And Jim had led them to it, because this wasn’t his idea. Or Sherlock’s. He didn’t _blame_ , no, but this would only cause problems, recurring or not. Shuddering, he bent down to pick up his pants, stepping into them, wanting to argue, suggest, _anything_. But in the end he couldn’t speak, throat tight with anxiety.

Sherlock chose that moment to inhale, holding it in. It needed to be asked, of course. Verify what everyone already knew – this was dangerous. He’d say it was a slippery slope, but in the grand scheme of things…The answer was all too easily a No for all three of them. If only because he was no longer sure he was even going to _be_ with Jim for very long after this. “I abstain.”

-

Eyeing each of them in turn, Jim gave a short, thoughtful hum. _Guess the hostage honeymoon is over…_ He didn’t regret it, if only because it acted as a nice break in the tension. But he was also afloat with satisfaction and mildly inebriated. They should shower, obviously not together. They should get whatever show remained, on the road. But Jim couldn’t bring himself to ask, _what next?_ Funny, to feel perfectly used yet still the orchestrator of it all. Well, fine. Even if it meant nothing but trouble to them, it meant something to Jim. For a little while. Awkward, but why tiptoe around the elephant in the room when it was bound to kick you against the wall eventually anyway? “Well, if it was…” he murmured, closing his eyes with a small sigh, a wistful and private smile. “Thanks.”

-

Sherlock had no idea what to say to that. You’re Welcome seemed too sarcastic. This was a happy moment for Jim. Best not to ruin it.

Sebastian, it turned out, knew exactly what to say. “Glad to be of service,” he said glumly, putting out his cigarette in the ashtray, leaning against the wall.

-

Jim’s brow knitted some over shuttered lids. _Oh, yes, because you only like snogging Sherlock when it’s to piss me off, dear me, I plum forgot for a few minutes there_. “Don’t be rude, ‘Bastian,” he admonished lightly, hand still stroking the heated skin of Sherlock’s leg. “We all enjoyed it at the time.” _And neither of you can pretend otherwise._ Tilting his head, he kissed Sherlock’s thigh softly. “You want first shower?” he offered as if it were his own room, eyes opening to regard him curiously. _You were bound for a day, after all_. And if Sebastian wanted to be stroppy or had anything in particular he wished to say in private, there would be a chance. They might all have similar opportunities to exchange words. Armed or not, upset or not, Sebastian and himself were the least worrisome pair.

-

A ploy to get him out of the room, at least not listening. Hm. _Or_ , Sherlock thought wistfully, _Doesn’t want me and Moran alone, even if that’s inevitable. Jim will have to shower eventually…_ So it was either irrational or tactical…But all things were. “Alright,” he said carefully, trying to catch Moran’s eye, who’d been avoiding looking at either of them since he got up. He gently nudged Jim off of him, picking up his clothing as he went, not bothering to get dressed only to strip again for the water.

Sebastian kept his eyes trained on the ceiling as Sherlock passed. Things appear significantly less sexy when you’re certain you’re about to get terrible news. He didn’t speak until he heard the water running. “Rude is in my nature.”

-

Jim adopted the cigarette that Sherlock had left perched near the nightstand phone, and his vacated spot near the headboard too. He watched Sebastian furtively, little flicks of his gaze, as Sherlock started the shower; blew smoke out with a sigh that seemed pleased. It hid the rest. _Going to stop being a Nervous Nancy and avoiding the bed? But we can’t curl up like we used to, can we. Your chest was always a nice pillow_. Little remembrances, tapped away with the ash. “What’s your next move?”

-

Sebastian waited a moment, knuckles whitening on his arm. “I don’t know,” he said, voice hoarse, empty. _Kill myself_ was his initial, obtrusive thought. But that wasn’t for here. He thunked his head on the wall. “What about you?” _You and Sherlock…Fucking ponce. Fuck you both_. He wasn’t angry, but he felt more abandoned than he ever had. The only thing comparable was waking up, drugged and alone.

-

A tic of the eyes that may have belied sympathy, as Jim watched him. He knew Sebastian’s every gesture, could read him so easily. Was he regretting it all already? Jim’s brows lifted a fraction. _Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to, you’ve seen the damn rings._ Jim took a slow drag and blew it out. “Clearing out soon if he’s no longer a _hostage_ ,” he said quietly. “Probably explaining to him how _rude_ it would be to fuck you over once he’s been in bed with you.” Molly Hooper had kissed Jim, or who she thought Jim was; he had never hurt her beyond necessity. _Circumstantial ransom, how’s that_?

Jim licked his lips, cleared his throat. “Be nice to stay awhile,” he said casually as he tapped more ash into the ashtray, meaning it almost too much. Be near Sebastian, sure he was safe, maybe even hugged every so often…Not gonna fly. “Would hate to wear out our welcome.” Our, not My. Jim could secretly care about Sebastian all he liked, it didn’t change that Sherlock and himself were, for the most part, together and happy with that.

-

“You can stay,” Sebastian said quickly, stupidly. He took a breath, “You and Curly both, just…I’d prefer if you get dressed after you wash up.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll have to move in a day or so, you probably don’t want to follow after.” He shuffled close to the bed, sitting on the edge of it. Skittish.

-

Hadn’t he and Sherlock had a row about Jim _not_ wanting to be undressed? Funny. Though Sherlock wouldn’t think it so, the disparity of comfort levels. Though normally between he and Sebastian, he would be up and into clothes already. This time simply felt different. As if he wouldn’t be _able_ to hide anything from them both, were anything worth hiding. “…I’ll run it by him,” Jim said smoothly rather than more misplaced thanks, tugging a sheet to drape over his lap and upper legs. “Not leaving until I’m sure he won’t talk, either way…”

 _Because I care_.

Pressing out the dying cigarette, Jim’s free hand shifted on the mattress, like it wanted to reach out and wasn’t allowed. Why had Sebastian smiled to see him? Was this reconnecting, or simply the prolonging and expansion of disaster? “You’ve been through enough,” he muttered, staring at a bruise on the other’s arm.

-

“Enough,” Sebastian agreed, posture stiff. He left himself look over. Ah. How things had changed. But had they? Jim seemed so…vulnerable. Yes. That was different. Yet another thing Sherlock so easily accessed in Jim that it’d taken Seb years to chip away at. He was exhausted in so many ways. But to seek comfort, to curl up beside Jim now, was weakness, and Jim had heard enough of it as he blubbered over the phone days ago. He noticed the smaller man’s gaze, casually clapping a hand over the bruise. There was Jim’s vulnerability plain in his eyes, but Sebastian wore his own all over his wrecked body.

-

It was like having to flip through lasers to get to a codebox to shut down an alarm: so many lines drawn, and where were they all? What would be acceptable as support, comfort? What was the line between what Sebastian wanted and what he needed? Would crossing any make Sherlock cross? His tiger had been hurt. But wasn’t his tiger anymore. Yet was.

Either way, Sebastian didn’t want pity, that much was clear. A reminder of the power he had left might do nicely, self-serving as the question would sound. “What’d you do with the note,” Jim inquired dully, gaze back on the mattress.

-

Ah. Of course. The heart of his reason. Because Sherlock would probably have escaped on his own. With or without that information, but something told the sniper that he’d have gone snooping if given half the chance. He sighed. No use of holding onto it other than sentiment. Not even pleasant sentiment. He got up, pulling the suitcase out from under the bed, slipping his hand into the front pocket, note folded up, handing it to Jim.

-

He half expected Sebastian to laugh, to say he’d only been bluffing. But no. There went Basher uncharacteristically handing over the last of his ammo. Jim glanced at it, almost not wanting it for all the energy attached, but took it all the same. Folded it open to confirm, but quickly. “Thanks…” _I drugged him and left him a note, good_ _God, I’m an asshole._ What to do with the damned thing. Jim slipped silently off the bed, taking the sheet with him a la Sherlock wraparound, and went to the small desk and its obligatory notepad. He considered for a moment, anything better with which to leave Sebastian in its place.

What mattered now? Keeping Sherlock and Iceman at bay.

His back to Sebastian, he scrawled hastily,

_I’ll fight for you._

Even if it meant an argument with Sherlock how to handle things. Even if it meant expending resources on an _ex_ -employee. “Trade you,” he murmured, ripping the top sheet from the pad and folding it, padding over and handing it to Sebastian without looking at him before moving to the window again. He drew back the curtain, cracked it open, and began to rip the awful note into the small pieces, letting the wind have them.

-

Sebastian took the note gingerly, watching Jim release confetti into the wind. Watch, the Iceman’s men would somehow gather every piece and scrape their DNA off it or something. Sebastian laughed inwardly at his own crazy thought. Paranoia, even if it wasn’t entirely serious. He considered the note. Read it now? Later, after Jim and his precious boytoy had left? Well. If it was heartbreaking, best now. He unfolded it slowly and –

And how could four little words obliterate him? Fuck Iceman’s tactics, he should’ve had Jim in there if he wanted to cause real pain. He took a shaky breath, folding it back up, kneeling to put it in the spot that once held the heinous goodbye. Felt right.

He spent another second on his knees before rising, legs about to give out on him. He ambled over to the window, hesitating only a second longer, trying to decide if it was a good idea before drawing Jim into his arms.

-

Granted, Sebastian could do Jim’s little sentiment up by a notch or two – I’ll die for you; I’ll live for you. Fighting wasn’t much, but still a more pleasant set of words than the ones he sent falling in bits. How much trouble might have been spared them all? Mental, physical, emotional, different injuries across the board ranging from Iceman’s bullet wound down to Sebastian’s bruises. All because Sherlock asked…No, fighting wasn’t much.

But apparently enough.

The water ran yet. Jim let himself lean back.

Eyes pointed blankly at the window, he swallowed hard. His arms tightened over Sebastian’s, undeniably a squeeze.

Casual. Light.

“Best possible outcome to a hostage situation, though,” he stated quietly, convinced of that. They’d partaken in bloody ones from time to time. The gore only ever impressed him so much; Sebastian always did. But this was never bound to be one of those. Not with Sebastian even _playing_ over the phone at giving him away to Sherlock with his blessing. A smart man would’ve simply been faking it for the ache of it. Sebastian was usually smart.

Jim cleared his throat in apology. “Pardon me, _guest_ -age,” he added with a faux-solemn nod, but it did all seem solemn somehow, and his head tilted. In Sebastian’s mind, he probably regretted not aiming for the younger Holmes. Who, given the day’s more urgent moments, Seb could stop teasing Jim about on _all_ manner of things now. Helpful. But Seb didn’t want to hear that he appreciated it.

-

Sebastian gave a dry laugh. _Oh, yes_ , he thought. _Short of anyone dying_ … _since Sherly’s death apparently means Jim’s, which would mean mine…_ All such a depressing cycle. Yet, in this moment, he smiled softly, kissing Jim’s temple. Preservation of moments like these…

“Better than the alternative,” he agreed quietly.

-

Jim’s neck relaxed, head rolling until the back of it rested against Sebastian’s shoulder. They were utterly still in a way that felt like dancing. May have been the booze doing that, Jim reasoned as he closed his eyes, but was lying to himself. They’d always chosen their moments of tenderness oddly. He spoke again just above a soft mumble, “…m’glad you’re alive.”

-

Sherlock turned the water off, standing there a moment, basking in the steam. It was a pleasant distraction _from_ his distraction, which was now wearing off. It was less nerve-wracking than he’d initially assessed, and didn’t think it’d cause too many problems in the long run. No. That was his next step. Which, getting out of the tub and selecting a white, fluffy towel, he’d yet to calculate what it was. He dried off, wishing there was some way to avoid going back out. To hide in hear, listening at the door, see what they were talking about, if things between them were still salvageable… But no. Yet another thing Sherlock had ruined with his expert hand. He threw his clothes back on, slow as possible, straightening them out.

Sebastian tilted Jim’s head back further by leaning his shoulder down, kissing him tenderly, prolonging it. His chest purred, heart pounding, head fuzzy. Oh, how stupid he was to let himself believe this.

Distantly, he heard the bathroom door open.


	4. Ch. 3

There really was no other answer to such a comment, was there. Perhaps Jim’s subconscious had known as much. They hadn’t kissed much, he hadn’t even kissed Sherlock much, during. The whole thing, it wasn’t so much about love as distraction.

It was sort of about love, now.

His lips parted against Sebastian’s, an aftershock slithering belatedly down his spine. But he didn’t deepen the gesture, for it was perfect just as it was.

Creak of the door and Jim pulled away but slowly, head moving down and back a couple inches. Sherlock had seen, was seeing, there was no hiding it, so he didn’t bother trying to. And Jim had to be present for being either pleasantly surprised, or answering for it.

“Go have a shower, tiger,” he murmured after a few long seconds of just gazing up at Sebastian’s face. Tiger again. Nicknames. Good graces.

Trusting that Seb would realize Jim still saw some small need for an easy and willing parting, thus covering his own arse, he added blithely, “You reek.”

-

Sebastian submitted to his natural response of obeying. He gave a curt nod at the comment, knowing it was partially true. He unwound his arms slowly, body still trying to cling. But that had to end. He passed Sherlock on the way, bumping shoulders slightly. Something of a hidden affectionate gesture, but still gruff enough.

Sherlock smirked slightly at it, taking it for what it was: a small sign of approval. Even if he didn’t deserve it. He tousled out his curls to help them better dry. “Hope I didn’t interrupt.” It was somewhere between sarcastic and sincere, snatching up a new cig. He could splurge a little.

-

Jim monitored closely for dirty looks and saw none. Relief. _Oh, only in every sense of the word…_ But he was smiling. A few chunks of his peace of mind had returned or been returned, in saying just enough. Sherlock looked adorable with his hair wet, refreshed. “Nah,” Jim countered with simple assurance, a slight shake of the head. _Stopped us at about the right time, probably_. He was aware of being in just the sheet only because Sebastian’s body heat no longer warmed him, but wasn’t about to turn Sherlock towards taking his place right then. Silly. Rude. They weren’t interchangeable. And Jim still couldn’t get a read on exactly how he _was_. Distractions. “Penny for your thoughts?” Jim asked, readjusting the sheet as he moved towards Sherlock, going so far as the pack still on the bed and selecting one of his own. Why not? The open window was nice for it, and Jim needed something to do with his hands.

-

Sherlock smirked. “Do you actually have a penny in that sheet?” he asked teasingly. Couldn’t figure himself out at this point. Was he apprehensive? Happy to see the residual feelings between them? Upset? Did he still have the courage The Woman gave him to see it through? Bother. He inhaled, exhaling leisurely, adding to the airy nature of his lie, “No thoughts, really. It’s nice.”

-

Jim couldn’t quite tell if Sebastian alone was rubbing off on Sherlock, or the casual attitude Jim himself had brought into the room. And whether either were good or bad things. _He has that effect, isn’t it nice?_ Jim plucked the lighter from between Sherlock’s fingers, leaning in and pressing a brief kiss to his jaw before lighting his own cigarette, leaning against the metal sill inside which the air conditioner hummed. “We’re welcome to stay the night,” he muttered around the burning cylinder, drawing it from between his lips and exhaling, arm resting in the crook of his elbow pressed over his abdomen. “Any thoughts about that?”

-

“Is that code for Round Two?” Sherlock asked, inhaling again. On the whole, he was more relaxed. Unsure whether that was a wise thing, as his head wasn’t _level_. Mellow, but skewed. Biased. He exhaled, tapping his fingers to his other arm, “That’s not a no. Just want to speak plainly.”

-

“Not necessarily,” Jim shrugged, glancing down at the folds of the sheet as he smoked, looking thoughtful. _Wouldn’t say no…_ But it wasn’t about that. “I think he’s glad for the company, full stop.” _Glad I’m here and your being here means anyone following_ probably _won’t start putting holes in the wall, anyway_.

But Jim wouldn’t go so far as saying Sebastian was scared, or lonely. More like desperate. “A trouble shared is a trouble halved, as the saying goes…”  


-

From Jim’s perspective, Sherlock didn’t see how it’d supposedly halve his _own_ troubles when he didn’t appear to have any. Seemed only to double Jim’s pleasure, helping Moran as a side-effect. But it would be self-serving of Sherlock as well. He ashed some out of the window. “Frankly, he seems more interested in your company than mine…”

-

Well, that was hardly a surprising fact. Sebastian was living out of hotels and every minute could be his unforeseen last, and Jim was Home. Wouldn’t be right to tell Sherlock the things he’d heard on the phone. Were they a protecting presence or on suicide watch? Let Sebastian keep his dignity. “He’s getting used to you,” Jim said evenly, a tiny smile lifting one side of his mouth before he took another sharp inhale. “Which he must if we’re…talking.” Sherlock wasn’t obligated to get used to Sebastian, though. _Wish I could tell you the things he used to spew about you to piss me off, as comparison._ But this had been so much better than all of that.

“And I don’t know if we will be, really, he and I…But everyone needs forgiveness, even if they don’t exactly deserve it…” He looked back up, eyeing his darling detective curiously. No, Sherlock didn’t _have_ to sign up for forgiving Mycroft’s being hurt. But he’d also just been in bed with Seb, so that cut could only be so deep. Jim gave a small laugh. “I didn’t _plan_ any of this, you know. Meant to keep things light…If I’m asking too much, should tell me so,” he added more gently, reaching out for Sherlock’s hand and stroking the back of it.

-

“You aren’t,” Sherlock clarified. _No. I’m just discomforted by leagues of other things...But your relationship to Moran isn’t one of them. Nor is mine…_ It was just theirs. Which made some sense, theirs being the most meaningful he’d ever had. He leaned over, pressing a feather-light kiss to the top of his head. “I’ll stay if it isn’t an issue. But if you’d prefer some time alone, I know he’d appreciate it…” Not that he was trying to _run_ , he just felt it necessary they reacquaint. Talk.

-

 _More your company than mine. Prefer time alone. Gee, Sherlock, shoehorn it in one more time and I’ll be_ certain _I’m asking too much._

“Not sure I’m ready for that,” Jim murmured. Sherlock was acting as a buffer, but to what? Jim had whined minutes ago for Seb’s touch, of course he was ready. But that was really more an…animalistic greeting. He wasn’t sure what else they had to say to each other that wouldn’t hurt.

But then that begged the question, why stay at all? Other than simply wanting to. When Sherlock, perhaps because of confusion altogether if not for his brother’s sake, seemed to…not.

Jim stroked up his arm slowly, cigarette in his other hand remembered enough to keep it from burning his lover. “No, you’re right, didn’t come here with this in mind. I _am_ asking too much,” he sighed, glancing down, talking himself out of his own good idea and Sherlock’s arguably better one. Where would Sherlock go if he left them alone – Ireland, London? Why couldn’t Jim picture having to leave Sebastian and not feel regret in advance? His stomach flipped unpleasantly at the thought. “And haven’t been. Didn’t mean to push it…” He glanced up somewhat warily. Something was off with Sherlock. And it was possibly Jim’s fault.

-

Sherlock took another drag, casually slipping away from Jim on the exhale. _I’ve been sleeping with Irene._ “You and I need a private moment. And this doesn’t count.” He leisurely paced around the room, running a free hand over the wall.

“Things got out of hand. I don’t regret it, so no need to feel _guilty.” I cheat on you to see if I feel guilty about it at all. I don’t_. “And I don’t mind staying. But I think he likewise needs time with you, even if everything he’s got to say has already been voiced, noted, and painfully denied.”

_I push and prod you, yet you rarely punish me as I so deserve. But I wouldn’t do the same for you._

Sherlock’s inner monologue felt confused, bitter, hopeful and clear. Jim loved him. He loved Jim. But wasn’t yet capable of any sort of sensibility when it came to partnership. “I like him, you know.” _And I sorely regret leading to his destruction._

-

Jim drew in a short breath as Sherlock paced; it felt like it stuck in his chest as he followed him from the corners of his eyes. To have a discussion, right. He’d almost forgotten. _Denied because of You, yes._

Jim let the breath out, lips parted as he listened. “I know you do…” he said lowly, cautiously when Sherlock had finished. _Is that why you’re advocating for him despite what I’ve said about it?_ “But you’d prefer not to see it,” Jim ventured a guess, bringing the cigarette to his mouth, taking a long drag, impregnating the pause. “Or, until we’ve talked, don’t want to see _me_. Which is it?” He asked it with a micro-sneer of impatience, as if the answer was time-sensitive but were Sherlock looking more closely, he might have picked up on the pinch of hurt.

-

“ _I_ was the one who suggested coming back to Ireland early. To see _you_ ,” Sherlock snapped. He’d milled around the large room, finding himself with nowhere left to double over except back to Jim. He did, determined not to shy away. “ _You_ aren’t the issue.” _It’s me. And it’s him. Separately_.

He let himself make eye contact with Jim, mind too hazy from earlier events to analyze very far. “But you are the necessity.” _And we can’t both have you_. He took a final drag before letting the smoldering stub fall out the window. “And you’ve forbidden me from being alone with him anyway, if I remember correctly.”

-

 _But you didn’t, you went Tiger-hunting instead…_ It was so obvious a statement that Jim rubbed at an eye in minor agitation rather than waste breath. “That was before…”

 _Before it all became utterly more interesting to me._ Selfish. But they might have stayed naturally, comfortably, maybe over a lunch had Jim not opened the floodgates of a debate. “Look…he has to realize and accept that you and I go hand in hand, if he wants anything further to do with me. So we either stay together or leave together,” Jim said, gaze questioning. What did Sherlock want to do?

-

The corner of Sherlock’s lip twitched downward. _That’s a scary thought._

_I hope you don’t always see it that way._

_More like you follow me._

The spirit of defiance permeated his being, almost sub-atomically. Especially on something he reviled and fought against his entire life: being _one_ entity, dependent on another. He’d just assumed it’d be Mycroft. “I hope you realize how that sounds,” Sherlock replied carefully. Christ. He needed another cigarette. “But if those are my only two options, I’ll stay.” _Trapped._

-

Jim’s brow furrowed. How it sounds? Like valuing the relationship with Sherlock above staying by Sebastian, just as he should, is how he thought it sounded. Sherlock had just been tied up and imperiled, moreso had Seb lost his cool and done anything rash – no way of knowing what might have happened. But searching Sherlock’s face, Jim was sit by a sudden pang of certainty that he _was_ asking too much no matter what Sherlock said. _Something’s wrong. What is it?_ “Well, I’m not tying you down and making you,” he murmured, confusion written all over his face. He reached gingerly for Sherlock’s hand once more, fingers curling around two longer ones. “Been away from you for a few days, I missed you. That’s all.”

-

It was intended to be merciful towards the both of them – if Jim wasn’t going to be with Sherlock, it seemed the next best thing, in terms of resolution, was for Jim to stay here. _And perhaps after what just happened, I need some time to think._ By which, he meant go cry to someone who understood. But for most of his life, Jim had been the only one to understand. Until sex happened. After that…Well, he found himself relating even to _John_. An ordinary. Is that what he was now?

Before he could reply, the shower turned off. He smirked sadly and kissed Jim’s forehead. Crisis for another time.

-

No ‘I missed you, too.’ No ‘forgive me, I’d like time to think.’ Just a chaste kiss that somehow stabbed at Jim’s chest, made worry well to the surface like blood from a wound. Damn his height, he felt too small suddenly. A choice then, between continuing the conversation or being there for Sebastian. _Don’t make me choose, not again…_ Biting his lip, Jim wound his arms around Sherlock’s waist in a hug, pressing a kiss to the V of his undone topmost button. _I love you. Have a strange feeling I won’t hear it back if I say it, though_.

“I’ll shower and we can figure out from there,” he said quietly. Perhaps Sebastian’s presence would perk Sherlock back up, put him at ease again. Jim wasn’t sure what he’d done wrong to make him otherwise, but saw the value in Basher’s easygoing influence – it had soothed him so many times, maybe it could do the same for Sherlock.

-

Ten to twenty minutes. With Sebastian. That might sort many things out _for_ them. Sherlock nodded, keeping up a brave face. Nothing here was right.

Sebastian had sensed some things between all of them left unsaid. Perhaps it was better that way. He opened the door after he’d dressed. His turn with Sherlock, but it was different now. A day of being a hostage was leagues behind ten minutes after being temporary sex partners. As he walked back in the room, the air was tense. Jim looked…sullen. Crap. “You alright?”

-

Jim’s head lifted slowly, gaze sliding towards Sebastian. Miraculously dressed rather than shirtless, not flirting or flaunting. Jim had only the sheet for armor, and seemed to say a whole lot without speaking. _I fucked something up. Not sure what or how. Or what to do about it._ “Mm.” A gruff little confirmation – sure, everything’s fine. He pulled away slowly, looking at neither of them as he gathered up his clothes, standing again before letting the sheet fall away. “Hope there’s hot water left,” Jim grumbled for _something_ to say and disappeared behind the door, closing it gently. Warmer in here than Sherlock had been.

His hand rested on the knob and for a long moment he couldn’t move. Dare to listen in, or leave them to it? Christ. Shouldn’t. Really shouldn’t. But when Jim opened the tall shower door, he closed it again with a calculated bang from the outside of it. Thirty seconds, he’d give himself for being a sneaky little dirtbag. Just for answers. Daring not to lean on the door he stood near the hinges, ear close but not pressing, waiting to see if there was anything to be gleaned over the shower’s consistent spatter.

-

**It’s silent for a minute while they both dwell in self-pity.**

**Then Sherlock, thinking about how he almost walked out, and wants to walk out _now_ , asks Seb what the worst moment in their relationship had been. Seb says the leg-shooting. But Sherlock then amends to “during your _romantic_ relationship” and before Sherlock was a factor. Sebastian says Sherlock has _always_ been a factor. But excluding that, he recalls times Jim has been impossible to deal with, and he’d left for a few days to go on some drunken bender. Then returned to a raged-out Jim and broken things. Sherlock asks if he’d ever considered leaving _forever_. Seb says no pretty immediately, but guesses Sherlock has. **

**Sherlock doesn’t really answer, then sits beside him on the bed. Asks Sebastian if he’d let him leave right now. Sebastian also says no, because what the fuck, Holmes? - Jim means a lot to him and Seb doesn’t want to be complicit in his heartbreak. Sherlock sighs and changes tactics, asks what he _really_ thought about this little sexual encounter. Seb shrugs, says he always enjoys being with Jim, half-jokes that Sherlock isn’t hard on the eyes. Then Sherlock decides he wants revenge for the cell (revenge for his own state of inebriation and decisions made at the time), and charms Seb into kissing him to prove he can.**

-

It wasn’t merely the shower Jim could barely hear over, it was his own pulse in his ears. And what he learned shed some light, glaringly bright. Sherlock was fine with all of this, it was their previous fight still rankling him. Well, shit. Fights happened. And Sebastian was bound to tell him as much, if he’d accepted their relationship and decided not to be a complete snake. For Jim. _I’m trusting you, tiger_ , Jim thought with a sigh, slipping away from the wall and opening the shower door without a sound. Had to at least appear to have made showering the priority. Of course there was barely any shampoo left in the small bottle, curse Sherlock’s lovely curls.

But okay. Their fight. No wonder Sherlock didn’t say I Missed You, Too – perhaps he hadn’t. Think. What had it really been about? Not half as simple as the silly miscommunication and dismissals that had started it. Before even that, there’d been that phone call… But Sebastian wasn’t so much a point of contention anymore. So what _was_ it, really? They _should_ go somewhere away and talk, it was obvious – but it made Jim afraid, and everything before it simply a distraction. And the water was exhausting its capacity for heat.

Jim turned it off, feeling uneasy as he stepped out. All quiet outside the door – smoking? On phones? A _note_ , saying they’d bring food back, or or or- He tugged on his clothes, feeling the weight of being The Necessity on his shoulders. Sherlock and Sebastian _both_ wanted time alone with him, and Jim wasn’t sure he could bear either and so denied them both of it. So it really shouldn’t have surprised him, opening the door, to see them connecting and connected. But it did. _Didn’t hug me back but will kiss him again? Ohhhkay._

A thought like that, wouldn’t do. But to Jim, the option of Round Two seemed a distant dream. “…don’t let me interrupt,” he jested tonelessly, moving to the desk, the little booklet of hotel details. Maybe there could be room service food before things were nervous again. Too bad if he felt he had little appetite.

-

Sherlock sighed into the kiss. Meant entirely to prove a point, and break away the moment he was reassured of his control. Yes. Of course he’d lost track of time. _Finally an enemy I cannot defeat…_ He noted dully, both of them breaking away and wiping off their mouths. “Apologies.”

Sebastian said nothing, trying to get an angle on him. _Crazy sod…_ Once drove Jim up a wall by declaring firm asexuality, but now partially initiated kissing Sebastian _twice_. And it couldn’t just be a disinterest in Jim, or he really would’ve left. _Well…If nothing he’s given me something less me-related to think about_. “Seconded.”

-

“Oh, unnecessary at this point…” Jim murmured with a miniscule twist of a smile, despite all else, though it did fade quickly. Could hardly encourage it then get pissy about it…Could’ve done with several assuring kisses from them both right now, himself. With his back to them Jim let the brochure drop to the desk un-perused, fingertips rapping on the wood in thought, shoulders curved inward, head bowed. What the hell were they going to do. To stay alone with Sebastian sounded infinitely more relaxing. To be with Sherlock, for any conversation Jim was aware he felt the need to have, was only right, and suggesting otherwise would be open willful dismissal of it. One small tread on the wrong spot of thin ice and it’d all crack, especially with three people walking all over it. He genuinely didn’t know how to proceed.

-

“Oh, it’s completely necessary,” Sebastian said teasingly, picking up on Jim’s body language. He got off the bed, blood a little heated – he didn’t get _nothing_ from kissing Sherlock – hugging Jim around the waist from the side, kissing his neck. “Completely rude to leave you out like that…” Advances sure to be rebuffed since hat-boy was out of the mood, but it might improve Jim’s. And that’s all that mattered.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the display but was mildly amused. “Not interested in the hotel menu? Shame.” _Utterly famished for once in my life. And authentic Greek sounds perfect._

-

Eyes slipping closed at the brush of stubble against his neck, Jim exhaled slowly. It felt nice. And warm. And well-intentioned. Oh, Sebastian. With them just having kissed, there was no need to push or bully him away, pretend he didn’t want Bash there. In fact, he leaned into the bigger man a fraction, silent but grateful. _It’s not this simple. It shouldn’t be this simple. We shouldn’t pretend it’s this simple._

_But what if it could be?_

“You’re actually hungry?” Jim asked curiously, turning his head to peer at Sherlock. Still wary, so very nervous inside in a way that made his gut churn, but glad for this, too. Sherlock had eaten yesterday. So either hostage-playing or threesomes built an appetite, or he was also seeking simplicity for everyone’s sake. It was something.

-

“Hungry enough,” Sherlock replied, blinking lazily, laying back on the bed. No reason not to relax if they’d be here awhile.

Sebastian squeezed Jim slightly, nuzzling into his neck. “We should all eat.” _Lighten things up. Soak up some of that alcohol._ And maybe in some removed corner Moran might’ve admitted to needing the company.

-

Jim nodded slowly. Yes, they should. Yes, he should. Six AM flight with booze and didn’t bring meds, oh, definitely. Not that one off day would do tremendous harm, but food would offset what little it might. Relief, in the decision to stay being made for him. And Mediterranean lamb and rice sound exquisite. He picked up the brochure again and tossed it Sherlock’s away. “Anything else we need should probably get sent up now as well, fewer people seeing us all in one place,” he said softly. Logistics. Thinking. Nice in its own way. “What name d’you use for this room, anyway, Bastian?” he asked, glancing at him. Didn’t need the alias to order, just the room number but sometimes Seb’s were funny.

-

“What else would we need?” Sherlock asked, leafing through the options.

Sebastian snorted at the question – naïve, cute in its own way. Then he smirked, “James Moriarty.” He winked, letting it sink in.

-

Jim’s brows lifted incredulously. _What_. A laugh bubbled in his throat and out as he shook his head, pulling away from Sebastian just so he could get it out fully. “You-“ He rubbed at his forehead, still chuckling. “How did Sherlock find me, oh, I can’t _imagine_ , he says!” Jim threw his hands up comically, moving back to the bed.

“Gee, I’d love to congratulate Sherlock on being clever but you really didn’t make him work too hard, didja?” _Jesus Christ_. Well, that cheered him up. Laughter dying down, he sat on the mattress’ edge. “Toothbrushes, baby. Shampoo. Smokes if they’ll bring ‘em.” He gave Sherlock’s calf a squeeze. _Yes, I’m still here, I can talk to you both at once_ , looking up at Sebastian again as he pointed at him. “Amusing as it is, quite dangerous. We’re in hiding too, you know. Hey, what else do we need?”

-

“Hardly ‘hiding’, seeing as Holmes the Elder isn’t really trying to find you,” Sebastian huffed. Other things to worry about. He shrugged, “Nothing I need, vacating in a day or two.”

Sherlock searched his mind. “Not much, since we won’t be here very long either.” _Most things we have back at the house…_ Then he internally sighed. ‘We.’

-

Very long – hm. One full day and night, or leaving right after a meal? Best played by ear. Ah, but he’d almost forgotten for a happy moment that he and Sherlock had a talk waiting. Hell. “I suppose lube’s an utterly optimistic suggestion,” Jim said airily, though frankly wasn’t sure how else they’d spend the time. Telly was below them. Not like they could go out. Nor like any of them might not get agitated at some point or another and simply leave, either. Nothing was certain, but for Jim’s ability to switch topics as if he’d said nothing at all. “And it’s not like things would be hunky-dory if he did find me, so I keep it in mind. Use a different name for your next room.” A light order, rather than a request, but one Sebastian would have done anyway.

-

Sherlock tensed.

Sebastian smirked. “Well. Not afraid to talk about the elephant in the room.” He looked Jim up and down. “Optimistic, but within the realm of reason…”

Sherlock looked up, unsure. “Would be beneficial, I suppose…”

-

“There’re a lot of elephants in this room, I think,” Jim muttered drily. But this was really the best one to focus on, or at least have as an option. Who knew when they’d have the chance again, but he wasn’t going to push it. _Anyway_. Jim looked between them, not sure why he’d moved away from Sebastian’s comforting bulk, missing it already; “What do you two want to eat?”

-

**All stuffed with food, half-empty containers everywhere, TV on, Jim in the middle of the bed, Sherlock and Sebastian on either side.**

Sebastian set his container aside on the desk. He stretched out, folding an arm over Jim’s waist, slightly touching Sherlock’s, which had already been there. From Jim’s other side. It wasn’t terrible, things calm like that. Wasn’t how he’d pictured retirement… But he could live with it. Some stupid hopeful fraction of himself thought things might have a future so bright…

Sherlock’s eyes were drooping. He’d eaten far too much and slept too little last night. Curled over Jim, he rested his chin on his shoulder. “What’s on TV?” he asked sleepily, sounds blurring and meaningless.

-

Lambs were cute animals, Jim would grant them that, but they were also extremely delicious ones. Appetite or no, he’d not been able to resist, and once sated had been careful to napkin the grease off his fingers before wrapping an arm around Sherlock. Rather magnanimous of his darling, to have unsaid things of importance and stick close anyway. They were all keeping each other in check, keeping each other safe from the harsh realities outside the room. Again he found himself wondering why this hadn’t been nurtured months ago.

Jim spotted a clean, extra plastic fork between his and Sherlock’s bodies, plucked it up and tossed it off the bed before kissing his forehead very softly. “No space documentaries at all,” he lamented in a hushed tone, smiling to see Sherlock displaying all the signs of imminent nap. _I’ll be damned, you’re eating AND sleeping._

He felt Sebastian join them properly and sighed in a way that was almost a purr, so contented it sounded, hand raising to rest over Seb’s forearm. His head tilted Sebastian’s way, expression calm as he met familiar eyes, warmth in his own. Jim smiled faintly. Didn’t know what to make of it all, knew he shouldn’t get used to it, but…everyone was so warm.

-

“Mmf…Tragic…” Sherlock murmured into his neck, burrowing a little more. “Space is perfectly boring to fall asleep to…”

“Mhm…” Sebastian agreed, kissing Jim’s cheek. “This was a good day.”

-

It was still daytime, but Jim wasn’t going to nitpick that when Sebastian was close and happy and not dead. Sherlock’s curls got a chastising but gentle tug for his blasphemous comment, and a small scoff. “’Space is perfectly boring’, did you just hear that? Soooo lucky he’s pretty,” Jim addressed Sebastian with an eyeroll, but couldn’t quite pull off satirical scorn when he was so unmistakably prone to a genuine grin at any moment. He pressed a small kiss to Sebastian’s jaw. “Tired, too?” he asked, thinking maybe it would a wonderful thing, if they all could sleep together. Scientific studies had been done on the connection that had to love. Right now he was feeling it from both sides, basking though settling into quiet might take some time.

-

“Not tired, just some overstuffing fatigue…” Sebastian replied. Good meal, good company, safe for now. “Happy, too…” It felt too tender a moment.

Sherlock blinked, words flowing through his brain, not processing. His eyes closed. “Not pretty,” he gave feeble protest, “And space is still irrelevant.”

-

Happy. When a few days before, Sebastian had bawled down the phone. Jim’s fingers pressed at his arm, and he thought all manner of things. That he would curl up closer, if Sherlock weren’t using his shoulder for a pillow. That once Sherlock fell asleep they could slip away and fuck over the bathroom sink. It wasn’t a particularly caring thought, but Jim had it nonetheless. Habit, really.

“Sherlock’s unhappy because there are types of ash in space that won’t be catalogued in his lifetime,” Jim nodded sagely, palm sliding down to Sherlock’s shoulder, warm and roaming, soothing. “But _I’m_ happy,” Jim added softly, gazing up at Sebastian again. As happy as Jim ever could be, anyway, with so many things up in the air. But could he say it? They both knew it. Sherlock had always sensed it. Basher needed more than ever to hear it. Jim swallowed, admitted in a throaty murmur, “…And I love you both.”

-

Sebastian felt his heart gripped by a strong hand, squeezing down. Pain. Joy. Heartbreak. Spikes driven into his flesh. Flushed face. If he died now he’d have little complaint. Which he might, heart attack likely. Well. He wasn’t tired anymore. He breathed in an attempt to calm. “I love you, too.” Sherlock had already fallen asleep.

-

Jim’s blinking was a sure sign that he was trying to keep it all in, a sudden welling of emotion. “And I’m sorry I didn’t save you,” he tried to say but may have silently mouthed, finding words impossible around the rising lump in his throat, thumb stroking Sebastian’s arm. _Even after all the hell we’ve caused each other…there’s still this. I’m still right here._

-

Still too tender. Beloved, that’s how he felt. For the first time in almost a year. “It’s alright.” Even if it wasn’t. Sebastian kissed him softly, their lips a shining point of electricity. He parted, eyes scanning Jim’s face. “You were listening,” Sebastian spat out, “At the door to the shower. Weren’t you?” Because that’s the kind of sneaky fly on the wall he was.

-

 _No, it’s not alright, I was cold and they succeeded in killing you for a minute._ Jim’s eyes winced shut hard at that thought, soothed a little by the kiss. The question caught him offguard, gaze sliding to Sherlock who, down to breathing pattern, seemed out. Seemed.

A tiny shake of head in the negative. “Sounded like he was asking you for stories for advice…Left you to it,” Jim said quietly, lips remaining parted after he spoke. Not daring to form a question of, Why?

-

Sebastian kissed him again. “Not really advice, no…Not much to be given about you, anyway,” he teased. Jim was, after all, so changeable. There were no longstanding rules. Besides – it wasn’t like Jim had ever been the _same_ for him as he was for Sherlock. “He’ll learn on his own.” Speaking of him as a pet, a tiny child. In ways he was.

-

 _If he wants to_ , Jim thought glumly, remembering the fight. But Jim was trying to stick to not whining about him to Sebastian, and the assuring comment was loaded with a more important point: that Basher _was_ accepting the relationship. He glanced at Sherlock again, sleeping soundly against his shoulder, and half-wished for a picture of them in that moment…Silly thought. Jim kissed the wild curls lightly, arm around him keeping him close, and gave Sebastian a small smile when he looked back up. “He does better than y’said he would,” he relayed softly. “And so’ve I been.”

Did it all seem ridiculous to Sebastian, that Sherlock softened him so? “But that doesn’t mean I haven’t missed you.”

-

Sebastian smiled sadly, horribly forced to cover up the ache. But it was necessary. For everyone there, even if the detective was unconscious and possibly indifferent. “I’m glad.” That was true. At the heart of it. For either of them to do as badly as he expected… He nuzzled closer to Jim. “I shot you,” he whispered, hand gently caressing Jim’s jaw. “I…that was insane. What is wrong with me…”

-

Something inside Jim cowered from the memory, curled in on itself, though outwardly he appeared perfectly composed, the tender petting keeping him calm. “Bullet’s back in your pocket,” he murmured, “It’s like it never happened at all.” Better than saying it had been, for a short bitter while, Jim’s design to let Iceman return the favor inevitably. Why spoil this? Why look back when Sebastian could live only if he looked forward, and Jim could live far better if he simply forgave it?

-

 _Aside from a nasty scar, and the knowledge I left you to die_ … It haunted Seb, and his own internment made it worse. So many hours alone, with nothing but himself to think of. But he’d known (hoped) Jim would make it.

Before he could think of some way to reply, Sherlock began snoring lightly. Sebastian, despite himself and the heavy topic, let an unattractive laugh escape. Seemed so…Crude of an act for such a refined, dainty detective.

-

Well, nice to know he really was out. Jim smirked. “Shh…He’s only human,” he justified, eyes sparkling fondly. Sherlock and Sebastian liked each other. It meant more to Jim than he could wrap his head around, future plans being what they were. “Quieter than you, too,” he teased in just above a whisper.

-

“Shh,” Sebastian feigned a sneer, nudging Jim’s shoulder with his own. “You snore, too. And sleep talk. And occasionally sleep-grab-my-junk.” He stuck out his tongue halfway. “So, you’re one to talk.”

-

Sebastian didn’t talk in his sleep much, outside of bad dreams. Sometimes just ‘Hmph, no,’ when Jim thought to leave the bed to go work, and found it difficult to argue with the arm then tightening around him. Such a nicer memory than that whole I-shot-you business. Jim thought about flicking that tongue but it disappeared too quickly, alas. “Mm, well, maybe if we pass out like Sleeping Beauty over here, you’ll get lucky,” Jim licked his lips.

-

Ah, thousands of nights they’d spent together. So many hours of uncoordinated sleeping schedules made for some interesting half-asleep moments, both sexy and funny. “But I’m not tired…” Sebastian murmured suggestively, winding an arm around Jim’s waist. He tugged him closer. Sherlock didn’t protest. Moran brushed their lips together; “Are you?”

-

Exhaling a sigh against Sebastian’s mouth, Jim could’ve decided to feign sleepiness – but shook his head against the pillow. “No…” _But Sherlock- is asleep. And likes Sebastian. And just might not mind if-_

His nose twitched in a wrinkle. “But considering the food and that we’ve both had our mouths interesting places, might want to brush our teeth before trying that again.” Not really an insult or self-consciousness, no. More a declaration of willingness: to get up, to let sleeping beauties lie.

-

Ah, fastidious Jim. “Probably not a bad idea regardless.” He stretched out his neck, pondering if he actually felt like moving. It was so _comfortable_ , allure of sex or no. He slowly sat up, body protesting every second of it. “Joining me?”

-

Jim nodded, though Sebastian could get a head start. “Should’ve had room service bring up gum…” It was a good-natured mumble, amused with his own plight of rising without disturbing Sherlock. The arm about his slim shoulders slid carefully away, hand giving his curls a gentle ruffle for reaction. Hell, they might crawl right back in after freshening up, it didn’t have to be a covert mission. He kissed Sherlock’s forehead, smiling, and scooted a pillow corner just so to replace his own shoulder as he shifted upwards.

-

Sebastian grinned at the little display. _Tender_. Something he’d always wanted more of…But thinking back, he’d had more than he realized. Blankets that appeared over him when he passed out on a chair, exhausted from overwork. Cups of tea. Randomly given days off right when he needed them…

He went to the bathroom, letting the taste of mint scrub his mouth clean, stinging pleasantly.

-

Selecting a wrapped toothbrush from the stack of room service goods they’d unceremoniously dumped in a pile on the floor, Jim followed, giving Sebastian a playful hip check at the sink that of course only nudged high on his thigh. Oh, fuck, his post-shower, post-pillow hair was mad. Though, both his darlings had professed to like it that way…ah, well. Easy to feel at home, with no pressing obligations that required copious amounts of hair gel. Jim wet the toothbrush and squeezed paste over it, eyeing Sebastian in the mirror. He really had lost weight. Muscly, still, but- now it was the tastebud memory of Iceman’s dungeon gruel that Jim worked to get out of his own mouth.

-

Sebastian reached a hand up, lightly pulling at Jim’s fluff. His own hair was sticking out at odd angles. He dragged the brush over his tongue, spitting the suds into the sink. He rinsed out his mouth, wiping up with a clean hand towel. “Any chance you’d be up for another shower?” he asked cheekily. One idea, but not a solid suggestion.

-

Jim swatted the hand away - _don’t make it worse_ \- with a small chuckle around the brush. He spit and cupped water into his palm to rinse out, snagging the towel as he considered. Shower – warmer even than the bed, private. Loud. A lot wrong with seeing both factors as wrong; possibly waking Sherlock and being elusive from him for even a second, no good. If time with Sebastian was without guilt or guile, it had to be in every sense. Jim leaned nearer to him, placing a kiss to the center of Sebastian’s chest. “Why? You smell wonderful now…”

-

“Just a thought,” Sebastian murmured, kissing his temple. “Quite open to suggestion.” Though would have to go back in the room for lube anyway, so location wasn’t much of a factor.

-

The haze of tenderness remained; rose-tinted glasses for all. Jim could choose to sabotage it, head back to the bed knowing full well that Sebastian would pull him back with a _growl_ \- but no. He simply stood taller, wound his arms around the sniper’s neck, and initiated another kiss. Bathroom door open. There was always the desk. Let Sherlock sleep but if he woke, well, he could make his presence known or simply roll his eyes and go back to bed. Jim was done hiding that he cared for Sebastian. It was that exact hiding that had nearly gotten the man killed for longer than a minute. _Kiss me. How’s that for a suggestion._


	5. Chapter 4

So natural, his arms found their way around Jim’s waist. Lips parted just as cleanly. It’s how he belonged, really. Swore his life in service, but had pledged his heart somewhere along the way. Tongue swiped between Jim’s teeth, holding him tighter to his body, fitting so well. Familiar. This was home somehow. He walked Jim backwards, hoisting him onto the counter beside the sink, standing between his legs, grinding against him automatically, blood dropping below his belt instantaneously.

-

Melting into Sebastian was a familiar feeling. Often it occurred with more resistance or more force, the build-up of violence behind it; the only reminder of that now was in how easily the bigger man lifted him, how hard Jim’s legs gripped around Sebastian’s to keep him close. Jim laughed darkly into the kiss, a soft gasp breaking it at the shove of their bodies together. It didn’t matter that they’d gotten off not long ago – re-acquaintance had its own spell to cast over their respective self-control. _Definitely missed this…_ A flurry of pleasant shivers as Jim’s head dropped so he could nip at Sebastian’s neck, hands leaving it to roam down the sides of his back, hips shifting forward temptingly from the edge of the counter.

-

It was heat. So intense Sebastian thought he might be able to see the waves blurring his vision. But peeking from behind his eyelids, the picture was clear. It wasn’t a dream or illusion, or some impossible hope. It was just _Jim_. He groaned, a hand jumping those buttons (which probably cost more than the hotel room), ripping them open with little care. It was less easy to suppress the tensing of his muscles as Jim’s hand inadvertently traced over his scars, but hoped he played it off, synchronized with the press of Jim’s hips. His lips roamed down, brushing over the lightly stubbled jaw. “I love you…” he whispered in his ear as the shirt bunched onto the sink.

-

The clatter of buttons and Jim looked more surprised and chagrined than properly angry. _Yeah, hi, room service, now atop all else I need a shirt_.

Either Sebastian wanted him brutal or was just in a rush; Jim understood the latter beyond the wisdom of haste. He wanted to reconnect with Sebastian the way they did best, the sooner he better. The words made his heart stumble and thud over a beat as his head fell back, dizzy. “You too, tiger,” he whispered back between heavy breaths, fingers gripping at his sides. “Even with- all your…destructive ways…” He rocked forward again slowly, shuddering in Sebastian’s arms, making some effort to hold down a moan by biting his lip. “Better make the shirt up to me…somehow…”

-

Sebastian grinned, nuzzling into his neck, planting a series of small kisses over his speeding pulse. Would’ve been wonderful to hear it back again, but he didn’t want to press his luck. “You know I always do…” he growled softly, fingers smooth, tracing over Jim’s exposed abdomen, dropping to his waistband, palming the bulge in his trousers before working the zipper open.

-

A noiseless whine at the warm touch, Jim’s features wincing for a moment in pleasure before they evened back out, tongue flicking out to wet his lips. He leaned forward and tugged down the side of Sebastian’s shirt collar forcefully, attaching to him with a hard suck of flesh, tonguing it between his teeth. It maybe didn’t matter whether Sherlock slept still but Jim found himself a tiny bit glad for it as his other hand slipped between them, fingers tugging Sebastian’s zipper down, fiddling with the button until it gave, immediately curling around his thick cock. So many good memories of it made him groan, thumb playing over the tip before he gave Seb a slow stroke. “Miiiiissed yooou…” he sang just above a whisper, the sex-contextual sentiment muffled some against Sebastian’s heated skin. It wasn’t to knock Sherlock at all. Never a comparison. They were simply different.

-

Sebastian immediately lost his breath. Missed him. Missed this. Missed something so essential, familiar. Jim had almost been a part of him. Sharing him was tolerable, but alone again…It was a beauty that could’ve be described in words, even if Sebastian gave a rat’s arse about poetry. He swayed into his grip, tugging down Jim’s trousers enough to free his cock. He licked his lips, not yet touching, hand intent on feeling every inch of his skin, getting to know it again. Damn. Should’ve brought the lube.

-

Missed the rough hands and roughness overall. Missed feeling and talking dirty. Knowing there was no one who appreciated it more, Jim raised his hand to spit into it, returning it immediately to give Sebastian a squeeze that moved upward and down again. “Good with…your tongue and all earlier, but, mm, I want so much more than that,” Jim taunted in a drawl close to his ear, teeth grazing lobe as he stroked again. “Not going to hold out on me, are you?” His hand let go and drifted down, palming Sebastian’s balls, playing with the weight against his fingers, aiming to make him miss the stroking. “Not when you could be…slamming me into the wall…”

-

Sebastian groaned. Overeager Jim, always so _aggressive_. Always bypassing his plans. “Ah- I can…But you’ll have to let go so I can g-get the lube…” Letting go, however, was the last thing he wanted, trembling slightly. So easily melting under his skilled hand, he leaned in, rather than doing as his mind screamed and running to get the blasted tube.

-

A _romantic_ slamming, by virtue of being the first in ages by Sebastian – but there were some things Jim didn’t get from Sherlock quite as often as he may have liked. What was once a predictable end to a day or fight, now seemed a rare treat. Jim hummed a very reluctant-sounding, “Mmkay…”, hand withdrawing from Sebastian’s lower half, the one at his shoulder making a gentle grab for his chin and reeling him in for a heated but short-lived kiss, the abrupt parting a clear message of Go Do That.

-

Sebastian whined softly against his lips, lower body lurching forward, trying in vain to reclaim the grip. But ah, focus on the greater good. He quickly readjusted his trousers, just in case Sherly woke (didn’t want to explain why Jim was gone and he was nearly nude). Still in the bag on the bedside table that once contained other necessities. Sherlock still seemed well passed out. Perfect. Sebastian silently paced back, setting it on the counter, too quick to get his hands back on Jim, mouths crashing together with no restraint, tearing him off the counter and swinging him, the shorter man’s back slamming against the wall.

-

Jim didn’t mind being naked with a _purpose_. He hastily rid himself of his trousers, something to do while Sebastian was gone for that very short while, rather than _think_ or god forbid _worry_. This was all really quite inevitable, and Jim figured all of them knew as much. A moan got lost in the kiss as Sebastian caught him up in a fierce one, Jim’s eyes slipping shut but then opening wide in surprise at being lifted again. Fuck, but they may as well have been back at their old penthouse, and it was a marvel and relief that Sebastian still had that kind of strength despite his newly wiry figure. Jim hadn’t meant to rush, didn’t mean to tax or strain him unnecessarily, but clung to the sniper and the act all the same, relishing the feeling of being so light, things so out of his own physical control. A downward rock of his hips sent Sebastian’s jeans back down, and Jim whimpered despite his subconscious resolve for relative quiet, squirming. “Making me wish- didn’t need prep-“ he gasped out, “God, Bash, don’t waste time, wasted enough-“

-

“Shh, shh…” Sebastian hushed, petting through his hair, lowering Jim’s legs gently to the floor. “I’ll take care of you.” He took the lube and squirted some into his hand, kissing Jim’s neck softly, fingers slipping under him, a digit dragged over his entrance. Slow, methodical, despite every instinct to speed it up.

-

Why those meaningful words? Why not just Have Some Fucking Patience? Why did Sebastian have to take a sledgehammer to Jim’s ribcage with such eternal assurances? Jim looked stricken by it even as he craned his neck to accept the kisses and every flutter of sensation left in their wake.

It didn’t mean anything –

Just true in the moment –

Tried to keep it filthy, fierce –

Jim didn’t need taking care of, he was doing fine, Seb meant only with this one aspect –

_No, don’t get touched, don’t get nostalgic, this is about sex, it’s animal, it’s pure need-_

“I-I know you will,” he whispered, hooking a leg up around Sebastian’s thigh, kissing at his jaw until his head thunked back against the wall at the touch, cock twitching, expression almost pained. _Won’t beg, won’t. But jesus fuck, don’t tease me_. Jim bit his lip, eyes doing all the pleading for him as they sought Sebastian’s.

_I know you will, you always have._

-

Sebastian bit down on Jim’s neck the exact moment he let the first knuckle of his finger slide in. No part of it was _easy_ , but distraction always helped the initial discomfort before the real fun could begin. His other hand ran through Jim’s hair, yanking it with more fervor than before. He tried staying away from emotions. Sex was sex, simple, uncomplicated. That’s how it’d all been before _Sherlock_ \- and Christ! Was he really thinking about the detective _now_? He tried to refocus, finding he’d carelessly let his entire finger sink in too fast, working up to a second. “S-sorry…” he murmured against Jim’s neck, lavishing it with kisses, working his way up to his face, trying to soothe, not be affectionate…Not intentionally, at least.

-

Jim sucked in a harsh breath, one he might’ve choked on. Tensed, clenching tight around Sebastian’s finger before forcing himself to relax, oh, good. After the minor intrusion earlier, it could’ve been worse. His body belonged to Sebastian just now, from strained hair follicles to tiptoe. His heart? Wasn’t as changeable as his mind, temper – but Sebastian had its attention.

Of course, Seb belonged to him, too. Easy to remind himself of this, slipping his hand beneath the shirt he hadn’t bothered to lose, touching the scars of his own initials; not thick enough to be braille in such a sensation-blinded moment, but Jim certainly remembered right where he’d put them. He stroked over the skin with his thumb, remembering the day where, like this one, he’d gotten everything he’d wanted. “Ah…” The stretch, oh, but it was good, rattling Jim’s composure as his hand drifted further, wrapping around Sebastian’s length and stroking again. “S’okay, more…want you…” When their lips came together again, it was softened with an apology, as shaky as Jim’s knees felt as he lowered his heel to the floor, sank further down onto Sebastian’s hand. Ice didn’t so much melt in his soul but _crack_ ; he could feel it, and the sound he emitted against the sniper’s lips may well have been a soft sob.

-

Glad Jim could say it, because in addition to his brain being so addled he doubted much would make sense, a few things were clear: if Sebastian opened his mouth again, it’d be to repeat how he loved him. And that would probably get old fast, not to mention unreciprocated. Only so lucky to catch an emotionally open Jim, but oh _so_ lucky in other ways. Want You, he’d said. To anyone else, it might’ve seemed unimaginative dirty talk, but it was _Jim_ , who was rarely so personal. Everything about this had turned endlessly meaningful, even if it had started as a quick fuck in the bathroom. Sebastian groaned softly, shivering as he felt adept fingers trace his favorite scar. One he’d wanted, begged for, followed by a different bout of emotional sexuality. Face dipping against Jim’s ear, tongue tracing the shell, nibbling down to his lobe, breath coming in labored pants. Another finger searing in tight heat, half his hand practically getting crushed in an endeavor against Jim’s muscles but it was always worth it. “I want you,” he replied in a ragged whisper, replacing ‘love’ as it escaped.

-

All too apt, Sebastian working him open emotionally along with the physical. The latter burned one way, the former another, and Jim knew he’d come to regret hurrying it. His breath caught and stuttered as Sebastian’s slithered over his skin, body in a beautiful state of shock, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. He hid it against the taller man’s shoulder. “Then- then take me already,” Jim panted out, _needing_ the connection, needing to fill the yet-neglected hole in his very spirit that had formed at the loss of Sebastian. _My own choice. Stupid choice. Undo it, fix it, make it better, take it all back, just fix it-_

-

Sebastian was torn. On the one hand, couldn’t deny Jim anything, and his body _burned_ with need. On the other, he knew it wasn’t enough prep. “I’ll hurt you…” he warned softly, kissing his ear as he parted his fingers in attempts to expedite the process. As much as he wanted to claim him again, have him squirm so much more over his body, around his aching cock…he cared. Sebastian leaned back, thrusting his fingers roughly, but paused, kissing over Jim’s eyes. Verge of tears? That made them both.

-

Sebastian made it sound like a bad thing, hurting Jim. He didn’t want to. Rarely did, when it came to this, but the relevance of the realization stabbed Jim in the heart all the same. His hips moved in circles, working with Sebastian’s hand, accepting the touch of pain with a whimper as he sought the pleasure. His own hand slowed in the stroking, and it was horrible that Sebastian _knew_ , knew enough to kiss the liquid from his eyes, as much an offering and apology for Seb’s sufferings as the rest of his body. Deserved to know. Words weren’t easy to find but Jim struggled for them all the same. “We need this, we both do-“ Head tilting up, he caught Sebastian’s mouth in a crushing kiss, murmuring against his lips, “Please…”

-

  1. Beautiful git always knew what to say to get Sebastian to cave, even if it was against his best interests. He groaned against Jim’s lips, slowly withdrawing his fingers, lightening the kiss, almost tender now. Couldn’t help himself – moving his mouth languidly, non-reflective of every urge he had to break into Jim immediately. Preservation. A memory he wanted to keep perfect. An emotional Jim he’d never mention again. He slyly grabbed the condom on the sink from behind his back, discarding the packaging on the floor and rolling it on hastily, the hunger finally outweighing self-control. Hooking an arm under Jim’s leg, his other hand lined himself up, sinking into the tight heat in increments, toes curling at the first inch.



-

Yes. It should have been about needing it physically. The same impulses Sherlock had at first bemoaned then _suggested_ someone else take care of, before subscribing to them himself. Should have been about fucking, pure and simple.

It really, really wasn’t. Such a kiss spoke volumes of that fact.

Jim felt too fragile in too many respects at once. It messed with his head, made him want to wrap his arms around Sebastian, reclaim _his_ tiger, how goddamn dare Mycroft Holmes be so presumptuous as to try to mold him for his own uses! He was Jim’s through and through. The consulting criminal’s arms slid around his neck as soon as Sebastian was near enough, thighs parting as far as he could and remain standing, bless Sebastian’s help with that. And oh. It had been awhile. Jim’s teeth clattered mutedly as he grit against the initial pain, a breathless hiss of the sniper’s name with all the intonation of an impassioned prayer. Sebastian inside of him should have saved everything, quick fix it had often been for so many pains, but somehow it broke a dam, another sob wracking through him and out to be muffled into the blond’s neck.

-

Sebastian keened, a tear escaping his eyes. Not good, but he wasn’t about to stop, no matter the emotional outpour he was signing up for. The Iceman had tried to play off his attachment. Then when that didn’t work, tried to sever it entirely, to turn that love into indifference, then into an alliance. But there are things that cannot be robbed from a person. Words carved directly into his soul, as real as the initials on his hip. Lash marks were taken, existed on the surface. But Jim was at his core.

He rolled his hips, seating Jim entirely on his thighs, groaning as he was fully sheathed. “ _God…_ ” He groaned in Jim’s ear, “I love you.” Didn’t care to keep it in, didn’t want to. He thrust into Jim, sating some of the need, only for it to come back seconds later, stronger. He connected their lips, a kiss that still conveyed sweetness, love, adoration, and a thousand other things he couldn’t yet say.

_You’re mine. Not his. And I’m yours. Somewhere, deep down, you know that._

-

Jim’s mouth contorted around a silent scream as Sebastian pushed in. Jim was out of practice with taking him, that was all; not as if he could ever really forget the feeling, but his body panicked immediately by way of a sweat, clinging limbs trembling as he was pinned by Sebastian alive and exerting the best of his will. That whiskey rumble keeping him grounded, from floating clear out of his own head to escape the intimate connection he’d all but begged for. The real intimacy lay in its rare tenderness, and the words hit him hard. _I know you do, you’ve killed for me because you do, shot me because you do, stayed your hand because you do_ -

Jim cried out as Sebastian added movement and friction, too loud to be muffled, really, and rocked down purposefully as his tongue pushed against the other’s, the persistent pressure of Sebastian inside of him feeling like…like…A hand reached up and gripped Seb’s hair for more to hold onto, and Jim answered in a gasp that in desperate, increasingly mindless code could only mean I Love You, Too: “WelcomehomeBastian…”

-

Sebastian quickly recaptured Jim’s lips, moment of sanity recalling Sherlock was _asleep_ nearby. But his motions were unaffected otherwise – a steady rhythm of his hips, forceful but not unbearably so. He could feel Jim’s expression against his own, a small, dark laugh escaping him. Home. Within Jim’s body, within his grip, his reach. Home was just Jim, wherever they were joined in some way. He parted their lips, resting his forehead against Jim’s, gasping for a proper breath as he braced a shoulder against the wall, speeding up and angling straight into that cluster of nerves inside of him.

With all the thumping and moaning, it was a surprise Sherlock had sustained unconsciousness this long. The process of waking was slow, but solidified by a guttural moan that could only be Jim’s. _But why would Jim be- oh._

Sherlock froze, not daring to let on he’d been roused. He closed his eyes again. _Think._ This didn’t have to be a bad thing, despite what the snarling, possessive pit in his stomach told him. _Might actually help my situation…_ Should he follow through. And this could help. _Pain is an excellent motivator_.

-

No hand around his throat, no punches, no pain but for the one slowly transforming into something better; how often had it been so comparatively sweet? Jim had trouble staying silent, the helpless sounds of emotional outpouring and pleasure blending as Sebastian shoved them together. Dim and unrealistic in the back of his mind, Jim had a distinct sense of being reclaimed: not real, not permanent, but every thrust seemed to say Mine, Mine, Mine. And in the moment, with every eager squirm back down and the gasp as Sebastian changed tack, Jim’s body agreed: Yes, For Now, Yes, Yours.

He’d have slipped down the wall if he weren’t clinging, hooked leg clutching tighter, keeping Sebastian in close as he shuddered. “Se- Bash- oh, fuck…” The back of Jim’s head hit lightly against the wall, eyes rolling back, overwhelmed. The gripping hand fell to the back of Sebastian’s neck, an impassioned and shaky whisper as he neared the edge. “Love y- ah…”

-

For now, it seemed best that Sherlock play dead. Nothing to be gained from bursting in on this little scene. Perhaps it was healthy that they could take such comfort in each other…Just not while Sherlock was in the _next room_. At least while Sherlock had been an active participant, there had been some say, control, gain…But just to listen was a cut of cruelty. A world of emotion and connection to which he wasn’t exactly invited. But maybe that would be good, should things go south for any of the three in this space.

So he pretended to be asleep.

Hearing nothing, not even the very obvious beginning of the aborted sentence that broke his heart. Even if he knew it was true…

It was Sebastian’s turn to speculate about his untimely death, only to have his sins absolved for the handful of times he’d been forced to go to church as a child. But Jim would be there if it were so – he was too good for heaven. Meant to exist in some place far beyond the reach of any deity beside his own masterful hand. Earth, for now, was his playground. But oh, it was a perfect torment. The physical had almost faded into obscurity. To hear him proclaim his love again. It was true, it had to be. In a way, Sebastian was grateful for the detective, helping Jim see he was capable of such feelings. “Jim…” he groaned into his ear, stilling his own body, teetering at the edge of oblivion, palm curling over Jim’s straining, neglected cock, stroking him roughly. Important that he take in Jim’s face during, not to miss it over his own pleasure.

-

Oh, why did Sebastian have to stop moving? Less-than-peak physical condition aside, Jim whined about it, huffing for husky breaths as he took initiative to move, rocking down on Sebastian – not so easy when he felt simply, absurdly _full_ of him – as best as the wall allowed. His upper back against it and his lover’s sturdy frame were the only things keeping Jim from falling, the foot still planted on the floor barely reliable as the knee above it shook. On a shift back up there was suddenly Sebastian’s hand to slide into, the touch making Jim arch further off the wall, shoulders thumping and mouth falling lax. Were he thinking enough he’d have sought the crook of Sebastian’s neck or even his own hand to muffle the grunts and cries that rose in volume and urgency, but Jim wasn’t – or knew well enough what such sounds did for Sebastian and thought him deserving enough of them, not to care what Sherlock heard or thought. Though even actual words came out barely coherent in their rush: ‘C’mon, Tiger, comewithme-“ Jim tensed around Sebastian, squeezing his cock as he trembled apart, brain blanking out most wonderfully as he lost over into the pumping hand.

-

It was so beautiful, the sight of Jim losing, giving over to himself and his sniper. Sebastian could _feel_ his release inside what felt ages before Jim cried out. Intimate, close, and oh, with Jim’s declaration- _with_. Eyes trained on Jim’s face, Moran gave a last thrust, taking himself the last quick mile of the way there, moaning obscenely as he felt Jim’s muscles tug at him. He collapsed against him, pinning them both to the wall. Becoming aware of his shallow, labored breaths, his lips dragged over Jim’s neck, trying to calm himself.

Sherlock was fighting not to gag. It was just sex, of course, but it was tied up with far more conflict and emotional garbage as thick as blood pudding. Also _hearing_ the more soppy sounds without being aroused was…He let out a shaky breath. Heard none of it. That’s how it had to be. He rolled onto his stomach, face buried in the pillow as he let slip a few tears.

-

Pleasure roared and thudded through his veins for a precious few moments before it ebbed. Jim’s arms wound around Sebastian’s neck, the kisses lovely little shivers as he panted for air. Nice to stay as one being, close and wrapped up in each other as they came back down to reality. How often had it been like this, happening without sorrow to stave off or threats tossed around? Not very. And now it was over but Jim wasn’t quite ready for that, cheek pressed to the side of Sebastian’s neck, feeling the racing pulse. He was sore, though, and it registered slowly; parting wouldn’t be fun. Had to, however. Get back to the world, back to Sherlock…had they woken him?

A wave of What Have We Done? washed over Jim’s other thoughts, but it receded quickly. No guilt, it wasn’t useful, this happened because it _had_ to…Jim shifted some, lifting his head and gracing Sebastian with a small, soft kiss. It lasted several seconds before he unwound his leg from around Sebastian’s, the other on tiptoe to suggest pushing up slowly to separate, murmuring thickly, “Easy, it’s been awhile…”

-

Sebastian took the kiss, mind so delightfully hazy that he wasn’t thinking much at all. More contact, soothing the aftershocks, his overactive heart. He nodded lazily, a dazed smile crossing his features before giving over to a sensitive wince as he gingerly slid out. He quickly tossed the condom in the trash before heartily embracing Jim, easing him down.

-

Brows knitting, Jim’s expression was a small moue of discomfort as Sebastian pulled out. The second shower was sounding better by the moment, Jim thought as he pressed his forehead to Seb’s collar, sighing – if they _had_ woken Sherlock, perhaps no good to leave them alone…

He closed his eyes, leaning against the warm bulk of Sebastian’s chest. What could be said about it that they weren’t already thinking? It had meant something. Jim had felt too much. The wall was chill against his back. “We should…” Go lay down where it’s warm and comfortable. But he had trouble letting Sebastian go, or face just how much he appreciated that Seb was there at all. Surely it wouldn’t _continue_ to mean as much, was merely natural chemicals flooding his system and saying You’re Lucky and Keep Him Close. Right?

-

“Yeah,” Sebastian agreed, kissing Jim’s forehead lightly, leaning away from him not fully letting go as he picked up Jim’s pants and offered them before he went to get his own. Bittersweet as always, satiated yet still longing. He dressed quickly, waiting for Jim.

Sherlock, hearing their decoupling, dried off his face and resumed a more natural sleeping position. Act as if he hadn’t heard anything, but would that really resolve the issue? Could he even act well enough when he was now so compromised? Still unsure on _exactly_ what he was feeling, he sighed, curling in on himself, less eager to be touched.

-

So familiar a gesture, those quick-pressed kisses, placed as if to smooth the furrow in his forehead. Jim accepted the clothes, recalled lack of shirt as he noticed again that Sebastian was still wearing his. Seb heeding Jim’s request that he be dressed, or his own that everyone remained so, seemed somewhat unnecessary now.

**_I_** _don’t have a shirt…_ That would prove a nuisance later but for now he had the taste of Sebastian’s skin on his tongue, and was about to crawl right back up to Sherlock? Objectionable even to himself…

“Think I’ll have that shower now,” Jim announced, no obvious flirtation in it. Some return to himself that was at least 30% less likely to cry on Sebastian’s shoulder. Wasn’t it all still delicate territory, collective moments a minefield? He looked up at Sebastian, testing, even as he set his hand on Basher’s forearm – business _and_ personal. Jim’s dark eyes flickered for the barest second to the main room and back up at Sebastian. His eyebrows rose. _Screen That Call For Me_ was the message, the odd request from the rest of Jim’s face that seemed quite without concern.

More than a message or request – an order.

One Seb had been worrisomely adept at doing to begin with, when it came to talking to Sherlock. Who could still be asleep. But if Jim had wished to hide the liaison, would’ve been easy enough. Sherlock’s choice, how to deal with the fact that he hadn’t. A guiltless perspective but Jim didn’t regret it, reminding Sebastian of that by a stroke of his arm with two fingertips.

-

Sebastian had almost asked if he could join when he was greeted with a familiar face. ‘ _Deal with the issue for me, give me some time alone’_. Succinct. Useful to know when Jim was having a bad day.

“Enjoy,” he said softly, kissing the top of his head a final time before slinking away, closing the door most of the way behind him. _Listen at your leisure._

Sherlock tensed at the sound of footsteps. Damn. Even as they got closer, he couldn’t will himself to relax, or even fake properly.

Sebastian, amused by this little display, let it go on for a full minute. Smirking, he went over to the mattress, throwing his arse down on near the detective’s midsection, causing his body to bounce up as Seb’s weight hit the bed. Sherlock couldn’t stop himself from yelping. Sebastian chuckled, earning him a sour face. “Knew you were awake, sleeping beauty, don’t give me that look.”

It persisted, but Sherlock’s mood lightened up as he saw just how _pleased with himself_ Moran was. “Have fun?”

“Oh, _god_ , yes.”

Sherlock was taken aback by how frank it was, enough to give him pause.

Sebastian, picking up on this, relented some on his shit-eating grin. “How about you? Listening in?”

“…Not so much.”

-

Jim pushed the door shut with an eyeroll, because he trusted Sebastian.

Perhaps not the wisest, considering how the man really did revel in any opportunity to hurt Sherlock or his pride - _used_ to revel. Jim couldn’t say with certainty whether that was still the case.

But if there was an unpleasant mood to be lightened, Sebastian could.

Perhaps Jim would come out to find them both snoring – idealistic, but hey, a man could dream.

_Let’s start with not killing each other, we’re all doing alright with that so far._

_What an optimistic sort of day._

But it seemed a little better than thinking Sherlock might not care at all.

And Sebastian, he was usually so refreshed after sex with Jim that it stood to reason good-naturedness would outrule his squirrely bastard ways.

Deciding eventually that he trusted his gut, but didn’t want to be thought of as hiding purposely, it was under three minutes before Jim turned off the shower.

-

“Then why didn’t you leave?”

Sherlock wrinkled his nose. “Jim. Apparently if I do, so does he. Admittedly it _is_ tempting, but I’m waiting for a time that he might be inclined to stay rather than follow.”

Seb narrowed his eyes. “You _don’t_ want him to follow, but you need to talk to him in private?”

“Need, yes. But that doesn’t mean I want to do so now.”

“And you – oh.” Sebastian smiled. “You’re using me, too. Clever, clever.”

“Wasn’t planning on the _copulation_ …But essentially, yes.” Sherlock returned the smile despite himself – the glow of sexual energy and self-satisfaction was hard to fend off. “You make for an excellent buffer.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Sebastian chuckled, “Or I would, if I had one.”

-

So Sherlock was awake, Jim could tell from their muffled voices as he pulled on his trousers. Drat. Not that it mattered, he’d have to explain The Mysterious Case Of The Lack Of Shirt eventually anyhow. Didn’t sound like fighting, Jim internalized as he zipped and buttoned up, and couldn’t help leaning against the door. When had he not listened in on Sebastian’s screening anything?

_/…using me, too. Clever, clever._

_Wasn’t planning on the /copulation/…But essentially, yes. You make for an excellent buffer._

_I’ll drink to that. Or I would, if I had one./_

Not much to work with. And a buffer between himself and Sherlock, well, wasn’t that exactly what he’d asked Sebastian to be? But that they both thought it necessary, despite preferring _nothing_ between them…Jim frowned as he pushed his wet hair into a semblance of order. Well, Sebastian either had a place with them or didn’t. It was the sniper’s decision as much as his own, and Sherlock’s, too. If Between worked, without _coming_ between…

With a glance in the mirror, Jim decided his eyes weren’t red, puffy or telltale of everything they’d let spill. Out there sounded casual. Calm. If there was anything worth knowing that he’d missed, Sebastian might clue him in silently. He opened the door, pacing towards the bed, and steam followed him out. He could have said something witty - _I’m the only one who gets to use Sebastian, don’tcha know_ – but thought it best to pretend he hadn’t heard anything at all. “Sorry to wake you, darling,” Jim murmured a barely adequate apology, standing sans shirt against the door, hands in pockets. He didn’t feel like meeting Sherlock’s eyes, but somehow Sebastian being there did galvanize him into lifting his chin and doing so.

_No guilt. Nothing to hide. For what could you possibly be using Sebastian_? He looked like the accuser and accused at once, the slight slump of Jim’s shoulders incongruous with the intense curiosity of his gaze, and wasn’t about the reassume the spot on the bed until more certain Sherlock wasn’t likely to shove him off of it.

-

Sherlock and Sebastian exchanged looks. It seemed too innocent of a statement to be genuine – what had he heard? “Not your fault,” the detective muttered, averting his eyes. “Sebastian felt it necessary to wake me for some reason. I suspect it was just to be a prat.”

Sebastian had to swallow a laugh - _oh. Denial was how it was going to play out_? “Ha. Took Jim years to figure that one out. Ahead of the curve, but that doesn’t give you a pass.” He leaned over, pretending to kiss Sherlock’s cheek, whispering, “Whatever you’re avoiding, this will only make it worse.”

Sherlock swallowed, eyes flitting to Jim as Sebastian pulled away. He knew that. But he didn’t see much of an option. “Could always go back to sleep…” _And sneak away once you’re properly passed out._

-

“…did he now,” Jim considered, gaze sliding to Sebastian. Wake him up to be a prat and braggart, call attention to it all? Not impossible. How many more elephants had entered the room whilst he’d showered? But at the mention of sleep, Jim nodded and shuffled over to the bed, blindly accepting a reality in which that was comfortable and possible. “Mmm, I think I like that idea…” _Because I’m fucked-out and baffled besides_ , he thought with an inward sigh as he settled on the mattress, nearly where he’d been in the middle before. _And we’re all too good at bullshit, it’s exhausting._

When he laid down it was on his side and facing away from them both, an arm curling comfortably under a pillow as he thought. Had Seb really woken him? It wasn’t a matter how much Sherlock knew but how upset he was or was not. If Jim didn’t feel him curl up…no, how passive. There were faster ways of telling. He flipped to his other side, immediately winding an arm around his waist. “If you’re still tired. And Sebastian still doesn’t mind us stealing his bed.”

-

Sherlock sighed, relaxing against Jim’s form. Not much choice if he wanted to act natural. But it’d make sneaking out more difficult. “I could…” A lie, his brain running at maybe a thousand kilometers a second, comparable to days without a case.

“Don’t mind at all,” Sebastian shrugged, moving to get on the other side of Jim. Tension, but he couldn’t think of that now. Priority was Jim. Included Sherlock, but it seemed sandwiching #1 between them would help. At least until his beloved passed out, then he and the detective could have a real talk.

-

Being close to Sherlock should always have been more than finding something out. Jim wanted to relax into his arms and believe it was all fine, that they’d always be fine. Even in anger, so long as they meant something to each other. Jim reached out with the hand poking from beneath the pillow, and gently stroked Sherlock’s curls, watching his face carefully as he accepted the warmth of Sebastian’s body behind him, leaned back against it.

He licked his lips.

Were Sherlock’s eyes a little red?

Sometimes Jim and Sebastian shagged before meetings.

It was always a real confidence booster.

“Think I don’t know when you’re not quite telling the truth by now?” he asked in a forcibly amused murmur. It _sounded_ lightly accusatory but wasn’t. Hurt some to think Sherlock could talk more to Seb than himself, and _surely_ he was aware what had occurred. “Look like you’re thinking too much to sleep…”

-

Sebastian’s teeth clenched. Sherlock wasn’t nearly as good of an actor as he liked to believe, but the sniper would’ve put money on Jim being just tired enough to accept it until he woke. He looked over Jim’s head, catching Sherlock’s eye with a silent, _Well, damn, I tried_.

“I’m usually thinking too much to sleep,” Sherlock muttered in thoughtless reply. It was true. Unusual for him to be sleeping as much as he had, even if it was disjointed and peppered with unintentional wakings. “And maybe I am lying. But maybe I’d rather ignore what I was just subjected to hearing.”

-

Jim nodded slowly, cheek against the pillow. Oh, he understood that feeling, the jealousy _and_ wishing to ignore. But Sherlock was barely looking at him. Fair enough.

“Well…we can all lay here troubled – except Sebastian, of course, he’s not troubled at all, I imagine – and try to sleep.” His fingers never ceased the gentle winding around, watch-them-bounce but soothing touches to Sherlock’s curls, a loving reminder that Jim was on his side, too. Would be as long as he could be. He carried on quietly. “Or you can listen to me admit that I was wrong.”

-

Jim? Admit he was wrong?

Tempting for everyone involved, honestly. But depending on what he was ‘wrong’ for, might offend any number of parties here. Sherlock pursed his lips, eyes locking with Sebastian’s. Didn’t want anything said that might hurt him. But with a subtle nod of approval, he sighed. Jim deserved to explain himself, the way Moran didn’t need explaining. “…I’m listening.”

-

He’d known _that_ would get Sherlock’s attention. He also knew with Sebastian so close, it wasn’t the time or place for a more serious talk, but this one was plenty serious enough. And like the shag of reacquaintance in the bathroom, all would hear it.

“Wrong to make you stay,” he murmured clarification, big eyes blinking once. “What happened…was bound to either way, I just didn’t realize.” Jim smiled weakly. “Too late now, so if you still want to go…” _Don’t, for Chrissake, you’ll only be Alone_.

“But you’re tired. And I’m certainly not kicking you out of any bed I’m in, and Sebastian doesn’t seem to be, either. So, if you can sleep with it all, honey, may as well.” For all the sad gravity of Jim in an honest moment, his voice was soft, as soothing as the touches to the dark locks he was somewhat amazed Sherlock was still allowing.

-

That was a very big If. And not exactly a ‘might as well’ statement. More ‘despite extreme discomfort.’ Sherlock swallowed. Things he wasn’t prepared to decide, scenarios he’d never thought likely, and forced to be considerate of _two_ emotional beings opposed to one (though Moran was more independent of him than Jim.) Sherlock was tired, but not one he could sink into sleep with. Just tired. Ability to take disgust brought to an extreme precipice, staring down at his old self at the bottom. Before he’d even kissed Jim…

“Apology accepted.” If that’s even what it was. An admission of guilt, yes. But not an overtly sorry one. Regardless. Any relationship conversation Sherlock wanted to have would be put on hold indefinitely, until it was just he and his relevant partner. He nuzzled his face into Jim’s touch, shutting his eyes.

A knot unwound in Sebastian’s chest. He hadn’t been _waiting_ for Jim to denounce their little tryst, but he mostly expected it. But a new leaf seemed to have turned – a happier one, where his feelings weren’t thrown under the bus in attempts to please the detective. He kissed the back of Jim’s neck, just reminding him he was there.

-

For all Jim’s calm, for all the boldness he garnered from Sebastian having his back – he was unconsciously holding his breath until Sherlock spoke. It seemed a small eternity until those two words and Jim could exhale again, watching Sherlock’s face slide into a facsimile of serenity. It still wasn’t quite honest but Jim had at least shown he was open to talking. The next day, when he was less sex-tired and peaceful. It pacified some of his concerns for one night, reaching up as far as Sherlock’s forehead to draw his fingertips gently over it, as if to caress the racing mind within. Sherlock could have pushed him away and didn’t – even he recognized this was preferable to Alone. Jim might love Seb, yes, but had to remind Sherlock: _this doesn’t change anything, I’m here and will be._

He ached for a moment alone, to tell Sherlock how much he loved him…but smiled at the small kiss. _Wouldn’t risk him going if I didn’t know you’re there. Could you love him, too, Tiger, if I asked? I wonder._

Jim’s right hand moved back to seek Sebastian’s, pulling it around his waist in invitation, glancing back for just a moment to meet Sebastian’s eyes, kiss high up on his arm even as he stroked through Sherlock’s hair.

-

Sebastian offered a smirk. Looking to him for approval? It was funny, but the sniper’s gratitude was real. _Thank you._ For keeping him in mind. For not revoking everything he’d said that had touched him square in the heart. But while he could see Jim’s comfort in the matter, Sebastian knew there was little to be had – he’d heard far too much from the detective to think their conflicts were anything but just beginning. But it was an act he was now complicit in, compelled by yet another consultant as he settled his body flush against Jim’s.

Sherlock kept his eyes shut, willing himself to ignore the affectionate display happening right beside him. Didn’t melt under Jim’s touch as he would on a less trying day, but it was helpful. However…A chemistry set might’ve been a better distraction, a faint thrumming of blood in his ears – anger, disgust, some fear. All brought on by his current company.

-

Jim wasn’t stupid: this was killing time between emergencies. Between them both, he could keep the fears at bay. Fear of Sherlock’s talk, or that Sebastian would be back in peril once out of the safety net of their combined presence…Sherlock wouldn’t do an about-face and turn him in _now_ , would he? It was taking procrastination to new and dangerous heights, to lay here rather than get it all out in the open, but as much as could be said between all three, some couldn’t. So perhaps silence was easiest, Jim settling back down to the pillow, still watching Sherlock and passing fingers through lustrous curls until he let his eyes close. It was barely evening, but what did that matter? A nap or excesses of sleep, either would do all three good, and the bed was back to being a warm place. It was all alright, because Sebastian was there; somehow, based on a decade of experience, this logic was utterly sound.

It was all of ten minutes before Jim was drifting, the hand in Sherlock’s hair slowing then finally drooping at the wrist against the crown of Sherlock’s head, inactive as the rest of Jim, sleeping as comfortably as if he were floating on clouds.

-

Sebastian waited a few minutes after he felt Jim slack in his arms. He carefully pressed his fingers to his radial pulse, his ear attuned to his breathing. “Alright, he’s out…” He gently disengaged himself from Jim’s sleeping form, replacing his body with a pillow tucked slightly under his back, shooting Sherlock a look of _I suggest you do the same._

Sherlock had thought to ignore him, pretend to be asleep, but as he felt movement, he knew it was as futile as before.

As he inserted a pillow under Jim’s arms, Seb went to the window, lighting another cig. “Now…Why am I lying for you?”

Sherlock shrugged, walking over, but didn’t ask for a smoke. For once, he didn’t need one. “The truth terrifies us all.”

“Maybe…” Seb considered. “But it can’t be avoided forever.”

“Ah, yes, tell me how fun confronting it can be,” Sherlock huffed. “Or is leaving him to die better than silence?”

Sebastian inhaled sharply. “Listen, boy…” He ashed some onto the carpet. “I’d smash your head into the window but that might wake Jim, and he’s earned a little R&R.” He smirked wickedly as he took a long drag, a wonderful pause for effect. “But say something like that again, and we’re taking this outside.”

Sherlock grimaced – he knew it was a bad idea, but he couldn’t help having said it anyway. “…Still. There are healthier ways, but I don’t know what they are.”

“You and I both.” Sebastian glanced back a moment, making sure they hadn’t woken Jim – both a heavy and light sleeper at any given time. “I told him probably thousands of times it was a bad idea to start seeing you.”

“Clearly not enough.” Sherlock knew. He’d known of his disapproval – _anyone_ would disapprove. “Could have saved us all a lot of trouble if I hadn’t assumed I was better than ninety percent of adults at relationships.”

“Arrogance has drawbacks, who’d have thought?”

Sherlock scowled, but only because Sebastian wasn’t wrong to belittle him. “I’ve had this conversation before, with someone else, and I’ve already come to the conclusion our relationship cannot work – I don’t see why I should go over it with you, as well.”

“Something I already knew from the beginning…” Sebastian exhaled out the window. “But Jim won’t believe me. Or you, for that matter. Anyone…” He crushed the remains in his hand, lightly burning a spot on his palm. “Because while it _did_ work with us for ten years, and I love him, and he loves me, he loves you more. He loves you…beyond what logic and reason could ever sway.”

“And yet…I am so easily swayed.”

Sebastian looked over. Sherlock looked absolutely stricken.

He placed a hand on the detective’s shoulder. “That doesn’t mean you’re weak. Means you’re aware.”

Sherlock’s face popped up, peering into Moran’s. The gesture seemed so innocent, even parental. “I don’t think this will work. Sharing him.”

“Oh, probably not,” Sebastian shrugged, waving his other hand, dropping the butt out the window. “I want him for myself, what you want is to be alone, and he wants us both…Something will eventually give. But I’m tired of trying to control it. And I’ve lived a fair sight longer than the both of you – sometimes when you do _nothing_ at all, things go your way.” He grinned. “Until then, we don’t need to be enemies.”

Sherlock side-glanced the hand still on his shoulder. Strong, bracing. He understood how one would want him in such a terrifying business. “…What now, then?”

Sebastian looked over at Jim, still asleep, and snickered with a wide smile. “Got a marker?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting more for anyone who's enjoyed this so far. PLUS - found some of the older bits of the storyline too. If you've read this and been curious as to how Jim, Sherlock and Sebastian found themselves in this whole situation, some of that may be posted/made clear in time - can't promise a complete picture but some bits as they're recovered from an old laptop. Meanwhile, carrying on with where we left off...

**the next day**

The wedding was going a little differently than expected. For one, there were people there – lots of them, some from work, some from Sherlock’s extended family. Irene could be picked out of the crowd by her vibrant red dress and Mycroft Holmes by his scowl. But after hectic moving from room to room, making himself presentable between fielding work calls, there they were in front of everyone, and an actual priest saying the requisite things. But Jim heard it all as if underwater, staring at their hands, the floor. ‘If anyone knows any reason this couple should not be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace…’ And to Jim’s amazement, no one spoke up. When it came time to kiss, Jim planted the softest of them to Sherlock’s lips; but when he stepped back to smile up at his newly declared Husband, it was into Sebastian’s face.

Well, that wasn’t how that was supposed to go.

Truly illogical. Enough so to wake Jim without a sound or slow progression, eyes opening wide and adjusting to the dim light compared to that or the ceremony from moments before. Okay. Where was Sherlock, hadn’t he been- Jim turned his head and, oh. There he was.

Well, _that_ was worth a picture, Sherlock using Sebastian for a pillow, Seb’s arm wound about his slim shoulders as protectively as ever it had been his own. They’d gotten up…what had happened, been said?

Odd dream.

He’d slept wonderfully. But couldn’t marry them both.

Even if they looked so comfortable together.

Had Sherlock been so upset that he sought such comfort, and Sebastian cared enough to provide? It warmed his heart some even as it baffled him, Jim turning to take Sebastian’s other shoulder, loop an arm over Sherlock’s that rose and fell gently with Seb’s slow breaths. Jim wasn’t sure he could get back to sleep but wanted to just to share this. What time was it?

He tried. Should’ve basked in the comfort but after twenty minutes realized it wasn’t happening. It’d be good to have time to think, but restlessness and lack of information made him wonder whether hot drinks were available in the lounge 24/7. Better be, at a place like this. Jim slowly pulled his arm back, moving off the bed and searching the floor for the handle of the suitcase, aware enough to realize he’d have to borrow one of Sebastian’s shirts, hoping there’d be one to temporarily filch.

-

As he felt the bed dip, Sherlock’s eyelids fluttered. Natural protective response from the times he’d slept less secure places. He sat up, momentarily confused – how did he end up on the other side of Sebastian? Oh right, after they’d - _Oh_.

His eyes widened as he saw Jim hunched over a suitcase, large black print over his forehead. “Good morning…” he said somberly, trying to remember the time he’d broken his arm in childhood and cried for a solid hour. Pain. Sadness. Despair. Anything to keep an even face. Not the mirror image of ‘COCKSLUT’ he and Sebastian had so maturely written on Jim’s skin. “Stealing his clothes?”

Had Sebastian been awake, and not shagged out entirely, he would’ve grinned, knowing his cheering-Sherlock-up tactic (and thus making him less abrasive), had worked.

-

“Well, it’s _kinda_ morning,” Jim muttered, fiddling with the- oh, unlocked still, good. “No reason for alarm, darling,” he spoke quietly, “I was just going to see about coffee…provided I can find a shirt…” Jim found a tee but it was rumpled, and probably not half as clean as his freshly showered body. Oy. Perhaps just wearing his suit jacket closed would suffice. Wardrobe unpreparedness, how ridiculous a problem for him to have. He glanced up from where he knelt near the foot of the bed, gave Sherlock a small smile. “I’ll bring something up if you’d like,” he offered, adding, “You looked comfortable.” With Sebastian. Damn, but he really should have taken a picture, because that one would have been worth a hundred thousand words…

-

Sherlock wet his lips, swallowing nervously. _Bring_ him something? As in…go downstairs, around _people?_ Well. It wasn’t a popular hour. And the hotel staff wouldn’t say anything. Only some of them even read English. “Seems a waste to be at such a posh place and not beckon room service for something so menial…” Unless Jim was after a walk, in which case, he hoped Moran had packed a hat of some sort.

-

“Weird dreams…thought the walking about might help,” he admitted in a murmur, toeing the suitcase shut and back under the bed as he stood, deciding a sniff test of the tee was not the wisest course. “Didn’t want to wake you, besides…” But he had – for the second time in the course of a day – and they were awake together; aside from Sebastian’s presence, there was little reason it wasn’t like any other morning they were near each other. Jim strode to the side of the bed, pressed a light, reserved kiss to Sherlock’s forehead. It stopped a million questions that wanted to travel from brain to tongue – _sleep well? How are you, really? What was said?_ Compelled, he stayed leaned down to press his forehead to Sherlock’s. _I wish I understood without asking. I love you_. “Want anything?”

-

Sherlock smirked softly under the kiss, hands naturally finding their way to Jim’s waist. He pulled him closer, his love’s knees touching the inside of his thighs. Oh, good. It was a little less distracting when he wasn’t staring the phrase in the face. “Ah…Nothing…But again…” He tugged him a little further forward, having Jim kneel on the mattress, vaguely suggestive. “Could have room service bring it, devote our energy to more _worthwhile_ pursuits…”

Mildly off-put or not, he didn’t want to release Jim into the world like that. And telling him would likely make him wash it away without having a proper guffaw. Or inspire anger, and it was far too early in the morning for that.

-

Oh. Well. Tough to argue with Sherlock when his voice had taken a drop from sleepy to sultry in seconds. Jim quirked a smile despite the confusion evident in his slightly furrowed brow. _I thought you were upset…_ Jim glanced at the sleeping sniper for a half-second. _Basher Will Be Jealous is no argument, either. He is, however, some kind of miracle-worker_ …. He moved with Sherlock’s adjustments, nearly covering Sherlock’s body with his own as he laid a soft kiss to his gorgeous neck. “And what’s ‘worthwhile’ in this case, hm?” he asked teasingly, voice a hush, one hand supporting his weight, the other stroking up through Sherlock’s pretty curls.

-

_Well…Jim best be glad I’m not easily bought, because if it’s so easy for me to distract him…_ Imagine the possibilities for his competitors. Or even if Mycroft wanted his attentions elsewhere. But even the shiver down his spine prompted by the lovely lips couldn’t suppress his strained giggle-fit as he looked at Jim, now zoomed in on ‘COCKSLUT’ taking up ¾ of his vision.

-

Nice to hear Sherlock laughing, really nice actually, but not exactly the reaction he’d been going for. Jim reared back slowly, expression quizzical as he wondered how bad his bedhead must be, and eyed Sherlock with a sudden rising suspicion. “…did you two smoke without me?” he asked plainly, eyes narrowing, face playfully serious. It didn’t _smell_ like pot, but with the window open, anything was possible.

-

Smoke? Oh, right. “Oh, ah, no…” Sherlock’s breaths were labored, abs beginning to ache, trying to get his brain back to Sexy. He swallowed, resting his chin on Jim’s shoulder. As long as he couldn’t _see_ it…

“I doubt our resident fugitive brought narcotics, pity, really. Could go for something right now. But mostly committed to my sobriety after some unfortunate run-ins, but you were there for those, so why am I talking about them…” Was he rambling? He was rambling. Must’ve seemed guilty as hell, but he couldn’t focus. He took another breath, hugging Jim tightly before nipping at his neck. “Sorry. Must be sleep deprivation…But that’s never stopped me before…” Except it had. _Shit_.

-

…If anything, the non-explanation only made things more confusing. How was Sebastian not woken by the laughter? _Something_ had gotten into Sherlock – Seb, perhaps? – to the point where any thought of Jim doing so seemed distant despite the kiss. “Well, you’re not making any sense at all,” Jim pointed out. _But it’s so good to hear you laugh, and be this close to you_ … He took the opportunity to hug back, to feel secure in the good humor of the moment. “But I love you anyway,” he added with a smile, nuzzling his nose against Sherlock’s neck.

-

Sherlock inhaled slowly. “I love you, too,” he returned, a hand carding lightly through Jim’s combination bed-and-sex hair. He pressed their cheeks together, thinking it a good way to avoid eye contact.

Sebastian, unable to take much more of this without bursting himself, feigned a tired stretch. A satisfied hum, blinking awake. Even if it wasn’t the most organic, it was a fair sight better than the detective’s sorry performance. “Party start without me?” he asked in a sleep-gravelly voice, sitting up, smirking slightly as he, too, was face-to-face with the obscenity.

-

Jim hummed contentedly, the touches and the sentiment meaning an indescribable lot, after all the strain and uncertainty. And of course Sebastian would choose that moment to interrupt. Of course.

“Ap _par_ ently,” Jim drawled, resting his arms upon Sherlock’s chest, his cheek on them as he blinked up at Sebastian. “ _Some_ one was going to seduce me, I think, but then found the ceiling just hi _lar_ ious.” He smirked faintly, tsking – it wasn’t bitching about Sherlock if it was funny. And maybe Seb would enlighten him as to why.

-

Sebastian chose that moment to let out the building laughter, the barest of justifications still better than the ceiling. “S-sorry…” he choked, “Just, the idea of _him_ seducing anyone is fan-fucking-tastic.” Seduction, to Moran, was a darker game of temptation and teasing. Sherlock tended just to stumble upon a horny Jim with a mention of something vaguely sexual. It was almost accidental!

Sherlock grumbled, but didn’t want to risk moving his eyes anywhere within sight of Jim’s face. Seb patted his back, leaning in and kissing Jim’s cheek. “Hey,” he said softly, resting their foreheads together. “Sorry if you’ve lost the mood…”

-

Jim’s eyes narrowed slightly. Mocking Sherlock, within earshot? He should’ve bit Sebastian’s nose. “You’re not funny,” he deadpanned. Sherlock could be plenty seductive when he wished…their night out, that memorable day nude but for dressing gown…alright, so Jim’s definitive examples were few and far between, but he wouldn’t brook outright laughing at Sherlock’s expense.

Sebastian’s seeming apology almost smushed them all together, and Jim didn’t mind, per se, but… “And I’m _fine_ , thank you for your concern…” Jim sneered slightly, a warning for Sebastian to watch his words as he shifted back, the Look remaining as he met Seb’s eyes. Sebastian’s bed or not, he and Sherlock had been having something of a moment before the sniper had awoken, and-

Jim blinked. A long black smudge on Sebastian’s forehead that hadn’t been there moments before. How had- He broke the gaze to look at the nightstand, and sure enough, a Sharpie. Oh, no. Which of the beloved pricks had brought a Sharpie for a case or being on the run? No wonder neither of them could keep a straight face, and in light of the realization, Jim’s admonishing glower probably wasn’t very impressive. Lips pressed into an unamused line, he slid away from Sherlock’s body and towards the bathroom.

-

Sebastian’s eyes followed Jim’s. “Damn,” he hissed softly, but wasn’t quite upset. Hard to be worried when his anger was so damn cute.

Sherlock was less amused, now openly discomforted. “Jim, wait-“

But Sebastian lightly set a hand over his mouth. “Too late, sweetpea,” he whispered softy. “Sometimes when you see a trainwreck about to happen, you just have to let it go…” He pecked Sherlock’s cheek affectionately, crossing his arm over his belly into a light hug.

-

Cockslut.

Of course.

Forgetting the fact that Sebastian and Sherlock had been the only people he’d bothered to sleep with for ages now.

It was almost funny.

And Sherlock had thought it so. It had cracked him right up, when the night before he’d seemed quite depressed. Sebastian had gone pretty far to lighten the mood, oh, Jim could recognize and appreciate that.

Talk about being a buffer!

Just as Sherlock would be, between Sebastian and Jim’s annoyance.

Personally, it was _just_ annoying. He turned on the tap, took a few initial wet swipes only to smudge the letters. Jim sighed. Would need scrubbing to the point of pain, probably. A few times.

_Professionally_ , it was potentially disastrous, and this aspect was the one Jim chose to hone in on. “Of course, Sebastian thinks he’s hilarious,” he called over the steady flow of water as he picked up a washcloth. “Gets a room in _my_ name,” he continued loud enough to be heard as he began a cursory scrub, “Then doesn’t even _THINK_ about the ramifications of his actions if we were to be found here. Doesn’t care any more if I’m taken seriously, I see.”

It wasn’t coming off. Shit. Jim turned off the water, reached for a towel, and wrapped it around his head from eyebrows up. Freshly Showered was an acceptable hotel look, wasn’t it? It covered the writing, at least.

Sherlock had laughed. Not only would it save face for everyone, but it would mean something else, too. Jim’s revenge had better be as amusing. Laughter was far better than the opposite, especially at someone’s expense rather than his own. Sebastian’s. Because Sherlock wouldn’t have been to blame for this particular word. Of course, they couldn’t realize it was coming, and Jim wasn’t even sure yet how it would come. He paced petulantly back into the room, leaning down to pick up his suit jacket, slide into it and button. Keep the grimace and grump; if he smiled, all was predictable. “I’m still going to get coffee,” he said tonelessly, clearly unamused. Because damn it, the marker prank had possibly cost him sex with Sherlock, and that was a little inexcusable. “Breakfast. Hope you two can behave yourselves in the meantime…”

-

“Without a shirt?” Sebastian asked snarkily, glancing over his shoulder. Oh, and with a towel obscuring his forehead? Hilarious. He returned his chin to the detective’s shoulder.

Sherlock looked over, checking on Jim, laughing hard again, guessing that the marker didn’t come off. He leaned back into Sebastian to keep from doubling over forward. “C-can…oh, hell...are we not allowed to come with you?”

-

Jim side-eyed them warily.

Did they know how tempting it was to crawl back in? How truly adorable it was, to hear Sherlock have a real laugh, and that Sebastian had caused it?

Twats.

He loved them both.

Tell Jim six months before that it would be something to look at, and he’d have been over the moon with incredulity. Tell him it would be something to side-eye, _then_ he’d have believed it.

Present Jim was more occupied with the vague certainty of petty revenge, and after being in such an honest couple of rooms for twelve plus hours, inventing something sneaky sounded wonderful. Good for the soul.

He shrugged as blandly as possible.

A sulk implied they’d conspire to invent some way to make it up to him, really. No Blood, No Foul, as Sebastian would say.

They might kiss whilst he was gone.

Why not.

“No, you’re not,” he shook his head. It was that simple. “For once, I’m the one _least_ being looked for.”

_And nobody’s gonna suspect Jim Moriarty with a towel on his fucking head._

He sauntered towards the door, forcing a last little glare.

Outside of it, of course, he smiled and once out of hearing distance, caught himself whistling as he started down the stairs.

-

“Spoilsport…” Sebastian grumbled in Sherlock’s ear, free hand running through his curls. It was really too affectionate for what they were, if there even was a title. “Was really looking forward to ripping the towel away at the buffet line…”

Sherlock smiled. “Ah, ripping off his jacket might’ve been nice, too.”

“Naughty, naughty,” he growled.

“Sebastian…” Sherlock gasped softly, the stupid husky voice hitting some part of his brain that triggered something primal… “You’re doing this on purpose…”

Sebastian grinned, biting at his neck. “I am.”

“Ah…that’s comforting in some way.” Not just his imagination, or natural sexual attraction. This was seduction, wasn’t it? “Do you…plan to go somewhere with this?”

“Not sure, to be honest…Seems to just be happening…”

It was like the volume had been turned down, lights dimmed, soft edges. “I see…” Sherlock let his head fall back, exposing his neck further. Still not _attracted_ , but couldn’t deny it felt good…

-

Jim would give himself seven minutes.

Any longer than that, they’d both be clever enough to figure he was up to something. But what?

Inspiration could be found in the smallest thing. Like noticing a stack of day-old chocolate croissants, then asking the front desk for toothpaste.

A laborious five of his minutes were spent scooping chocolate out with a spoon, and shooting gobs of toothpaste in the vacancies. He replaced chocolate at the end, chuckling as he pressed the flaky dough closed at those edges. Yes, petty. But every bout of laughter would earn them more.

The only reason he didn’t spike the coffee disgustingly was because Jim could find nothing non-fatal with which to do so.

So be it.

Jim tossed the toothpaste bottle, grabbed an untainted croissant for himself, and glanced once more around the deserted dining room for further inspiration.

-

Things had escalated quickly. That primal pang…Sherlock figured it was some sort of submissive urge, a small keen escaping him as Sebastian laid him down, pinned under his muscles. The roughness of earlier kindled in the back of his mind, elevated as Moran continued to dig into him.

Jim couldn’t really do this to him.

Perhaps inspire the fear with a knife, but Jim wouldn’t hurt him. Besides. There was something organic of it just coming from brute force.

Sebastian groaned softly, more to spur Sherlock on, not that he needed it – he could already feel the outline of his cock pressing against his thigh. Delighted, he spat in his hand, shoving it unceremoniously in the detective’s pants, stroking him without finesse, smearing their lips together, swallowing those pretty moans. He still wasn’t entirely sure why he was doing this, other than that he could, and perhaps to pacify Jim...but hey, that was more than enough.

-

There was only so much quick trouble to be found at barely-sunrise in a fine Athens hotel on a weekday, with a seven-minute limit.

Pity.

Jim made his way back up, laden with a paper plate of croissants and two large coffees, ignoring an odd look from a maid as he passed her. What, couldn’t a guy walk around with a towel on their head? Back to room 204, Jim chuckled. Cockslut. Such a bastard.

He’d brush off the laughter and glower when he tossed them croissants.

Or so Jim planned, but he shouldn’t have been surprised to be surprised. It had happened frequently over the last day.

And Sherlock. Looked. So good.

Jim’s tongue clicked as he closed the door behind them gently and stepped in. Had they even heard? Dark eyes flitted from Sebastian’s hand and Sherlock’s parted thighs, to a kiss that was positively violent.

His mouth had gone completely dry in less than two seconds. Jim licked his lips, dropping the plate onto the desk, forgotten. “Asserting your dominance, Sebastian?” he asked, tone bored and voice thick, with a helplessly wry smile flickering as he moved to the chair beside the bed. Wry, and hungry. _Or just trying to piss me off? Unsuccessfully. Because I know everything he’s feeling._

-

Sebastian snickered against Sherlock’s lips, wiping off his mouth with his forearm. He sat back on his knees, hand slipping from Sherlock’s pants. “Dominance has never been a problem for me,” he smirked at Jim’s face, pleased with the effect. “You can take the towel off now, we already know your terrible secret.”

Sherlock huffed, slightly annoyed with the sudden stop. Yet another instance in which his inexperience and impatience worked against him. For him, arousal was an emergency and had to be seen to. Internally griping, he pushed himself to a sitting position, arms supporting his weight.

-

Jim stared levelly at Sebastian, eyebrow raising. Physical dominance, sure. But mental? Interesting theory.

He leaned back in the chair, knees apart, the towel sliding off quite naturally with the movement, gaze boring into Sebastian’s head even as Jim asked in a casual drawl, “Sherlock, dearest, do you want Sebastian’s hand back around your cock?”

-

Sherlock licked his lips, clearing his throat, trying not to laugh again at the writing. He could be so immature, though his uncomfortably tight trousers did help keep his mind out of one gutter, only to be thrown into another. He bit his lip. “Yes…”

Sebastian raised his eyebrows. “Really?” Poor prude must’ve been _dying,_ to admit so easily.

-

“Sherlock gets what he wants, Sebastian,” Jim said immediately, quiet and even in a way that didn’t allow for argument.

_And he didn’t yesterday. He got some of me, then I took Basher away. Must play fair._

_So long as we can write awful things on his head later, too._

Jim rolled his neck, head falling back, eyes closing. A modicum of privacy, though he wanted very much to listen. He wanted many things but for the moment, his hands were still on the arms of the chair.

-

“Ha,” Sebastian said wryly, “From you, maybe.” The wrinkles around his eyes spread out as he gave an evil smile. “But I owe him nothing…” He crawled forward, hands planting on either side of the wall behind Sherlock. “So that leaves the question. What has he done to earn it?”

Sherlock whined low in his throat, surprised and a little terrified – standard effect Moran produced at this point. He forced a scowl, staring him down, not dignifying the obvious goad.

-

_Aside from keeping his brother from killing you a couple more times for good measure? Aside from bringing me back to you?_ “Maybe nothing. But wants you.” Jim sounded bored still but was certainly not, a throb of excitement starting up in his veins. He shrugged minutely, a hand falling to his thigh near his lap. “Blushed when you flirted at him down the phone,” Jim volunteered in a murmur, quiet enough to go ignored if Sherlock had some better answer than the gorgeous sound Sebastian had wrenched out of him. “Oh, I didn’t like that one bit…”

None of them had to hide anything, and Sherlock didn’t have to worry truly for his safety or whether this would end well. It would.

-

_Manipulative shit._ Sebastian scoffed, but wondered why he kept it in: Jim knew they both saw through him. “Obvious what you’re doing…” he whispered, brushing his lips over Sherlock’s who had gone quiet, eyes blown with need. But it’s what _Jim_ wanted via proxy. And oh, the sniper was a giver. His cross to bear, etc. He heaved a dramatic sigh, hand snaking lightning-quick back to Sherlock’s cock, detective almost instantly squirming.

Sherlock bit down on his own wrist, back bracing against the wall as his muscles contracted in on themselves, already so high-strung, demanding more and more.

-

_Though don’t let him come right away_ , Jim considered saying. But proving armchair dominance just to match up to Sebastian’s physical, no. Wasn’t supposed to be a hierarchy, not in the bedroom, and Jim wasn’t _exactly_ involved. Sherlock’s heavy breaths were just beautiful music, and to Jim’s credit, he forced his eyes to remain relaxedly closed. Even if it felt like a good time to pounce, even if a single stroke of knuckles over his own trouser-straining arousal hit like an all-consuming wave of pleasure – Jim had been no more _invited_ to the particulars of this little party than Sherlock had the bathroom previously. He’d see, hear, and speak no evil quite yet, since Sebastian had evil to spare, Sherlock wanted to taste of it, and Jim trusted them both.

-

Sherlock panted, gnawing down on his hand. But oh, it hurt, and nowhere near enough to counter the pleasure. Not that he wanted to, fucking Moran, so much better at this than Sherlock. And oh, if he were being brutally honest, had better technique than Jim…But unlike his prolonged moan, he’d never let that particular secret out.

Sebastian’s hand worked, wrist tiring, but the spirit was more than willing to put out the endurance. He bit his lip, eyes raking over Sherlock’s clothed body. Again, not a bad sight, but his gaze still wandered to Jim, the real prize. But there would be time to torment him yet. He leaned forward, kissing Sherlock’s ear delicately. That earned him a whimper, Sherlock clutching at the sheets. Even a beautiful crimson blush. And so quickly was it over, feeling a pulsing under his palm, followed by a low, hungry groan.

-

Was it objectification, living breathing porn, if he listened merely? Probably. Sheer joy and having an interest in Sherlock’s safety compelled him to be there but it didn’t hurt at all that the sounds his lovers made, even the occasional one of flesh against flesh through the muffle of fabric, worked their way beneath his skin and warmed him. Jim let slip a longing sigh of an exhale at that whimper, but that and the barest touch were all he allowed himself. It was almost painful, to be sure. But they were getting a sense of each other’s appeal, and if Jim wished that sense to linger, best to encourage its breathy beginnings. His lashes fluttered open, not able to resist despite his best intentions, watching in something like awe as Sherlock spilled over, tongue running subconsciously over his lower lip. Gorgeous creatures. Very good distractions.

-

_Job complete_ , Sebastian thought as he extracted his hand, wiping it callously on Jim’s side of the covers. Following orders, though he didn’t hate doing it. And even being in the same vicinity as Jim told him volumes about the man’s arousal, so thick in the air. As for Seb…he could, he could not. Sherlock, looking half-comatose, was probably useless, and Jim was showing remarkable self-restraint. Moran hummed, laying back, mirroring Jim’s earlier behavior of turning the detective’s thigh into a pillow, a subtle declaration of new (temporary) ownership.

-

It was something of a _game_ now, wasn’t it?

Or just a constant stream of fascinating revelations, and unforgettable visuals?

Jim stared steadily despite feeling downright lightheaded.

It would be too easy to give right in to the urge to join them on the bed.

_Dominance established._

His half-smile leered, eyes sparkling mischievously.

Too easy to make the simplest order, and shatter Sherlock’s newly vivid picture of time spent with Sebastian. Why break that particular spell of bastard charm?

This had been about them, not himself.

Then again – Jim did have revenge to get to, and was far too aware of every angle of this, ranging from pure lust to treachery. These things delighted and distracted him, reeled him in. But how much could they play, and Sherlock not feel left out again, or even alarmed? How much did Sebastian want Jim, to possess him in front of Sherlock for kicks? However much Jim wanted anything along those lines, he didn’t budge. “While I realize that came about rather naturally, I do wonder, Sherlock, what I should _order_ him to do next…”

-

Sebastian glared, but said nothing. In a way, it was returning things to normal. Tender, loving sex was strange for them. Dominance asserting romps were more his area. But ah, this would only work if Jim weren’t out for revenge – and Sebastian believed he was.

Hopefully he wouldn’t take advantage of his willing obedience. But it wasn’t nearly as fun if he pre-decided what he would or would not do. He turned his head towards Sherlock’s thigh, biting down softly. A little incentive to be mean.

Sherlock yelped at the bite – not gentle at all. He scowled, but turned curious as he looked at Jim. “What do you usually order him to do? Non-work related, of course.”

-

Jim smirked at the question. “Oh, all sorts of things…turn down the video games, clean this or that…he’d never listen, of course, and then we’d _fight_ and things would get so _violent_ …” Tone casual but eyes half-lidded and fond as he recalled it.

“But you probably mean the times I’d have him on his knees under the desk whether he felt like it or not…Look at him now, a tiger as docile as a housecat,” Jim continued in a purr. “Could make him do anything I want…” Jim’s hungry gaze never left Sebastian’s face as he spoke: technically in answer to Sherlock’s question, but it all sounded like quite the love song for the good old days. His fingers moved idly over his obvious erection, as much for Sebastian’s appreciation as his own pleasure. “Like clean you up with his tongue, for instance…”

-

The corners of Sebastian’s mouth tugged downward: _don’t you dare_. Comfortable with Sherlock, sure, but there was a fat line between getting someone off and dealing with their fluids. And no amount of teasing touches would change that.

Sherlock blinked. The visual might be appreciated by Jim, maybe himself a tad, but… That seemed far more intimate of an act, even if the idea was to subjugate. But how did one decline such an offer? “Doesn’t sound like he was very _good_ at following orders, if he hardly did them and it ended in combat…”

-

Oh, such wonderful combat, though.

If Jim was feeling self-analytical, he may have questioned why any of this was remotely necessary, rather than taking the easy route and joining them on the bed. The prank and ensuing laughter, perhaps. Or annoyance that Seabstian and Sherlock had pounced at each other the second he’d left the room, despite knowing they needed something from each other. Or even _wanting_ to rile Sebastian up, clear the air of having _made love_ the day before, return things to their proper balance.

But there were some things not meant for Sherlock’s eyes. Still. And the way they used to play was one of them. In fact, Jim would do a lot to keep Sherlock from seeing it, even if he didn’t know why. From Sherlock’s steady voice and having just gotten off, it was evident there was nothing in particular he _did_ want to see. Sherlock had drawn him in close earlier, but only as a ruse to keep him from looking in the mirror. Sebastian might have chosen the slur scrawled across Jim’s forehead, but Sherlock deserved as much punishment.

Jim wasn’t sure he had it in him to mete it out. His thoughts were muddled and suddenly he needed the control, over something, anything, because they had just been all over each other and while lovely to look at, it struck him as unfair. But Sebastian would hate being talked over, talked about like he wasn’t in the room, as much as anything else. Though not, apparently, as much as taking care of the mess he’d troubled to make.

“Well, if he’s not inclined to follow them now, he can fuck off to breakfast,” Jim said simply. _Not going to play nice? Game over. And good luck getting your hands back on me anytime soon._

_-_

Sebastian tensed, sitting himself up. Were they still playing a game? Or had they somehow crossed onto a tightrope? A bit uncalled for, seeing as only Sherlock had spoken. Such an inflammatory thing to say! Meant to provoke him, surely, as everything Jim did and said had purpose. He huffed, voice rigid. “I’ve yet to be given an order, _sir_.” Follow, follow, that was usually the best way to diffuse. Or rip Jim out of his little throne and brace him against the sill, letting his upper half dangle outside.

_-_

“That’s because I don’t need you right now.”

Matter-of-fact in tone.

Half a lie, considering his arousal and Sherlock’s indifference to it.

But could have been worse, without Right Now; he’d chosen the words carefully, meaning to stun rather than kill. Yes, it was clear that some part of Jim couldn’t help _wanting_ to incite and enflame, but perhaps the statement would just as easily put it all to rest.

_Not a cockslut._

_You two want to laugh at me, I’ll find a way to be taken seriously.  
_

-

_Don’t need you._ Sebastian’s eyes widened, hurt and caught offguard. He’d heard it before many times when Jim had been upset. It was meant to hurt, cut, to hit him in the same way. “Ah,” Sebastian blinked. Best guess: Jim _also_ felt like he wasn’t needed.  “Dumbass,” he said playfully, looking Jim dead in the eye. He grabbed Sherlock’s wrist and dragged him off the bed.

Sherlock went along, tilting his head curiously, watching Seb, half-expecting Jim to take a swing at him for the barb. He was utterly shocked as Moran hauled Jim out of the chair, locking him in a tight embrace. Then he was shot a look of _Join In_ , the sniper gesturing with a nod to hug from behind. Dangerous, it seemed, but trusting him on Jim Matters seemed wise. Carefully, he wrapped his arms around Jim’s back, resting his head atop the slightly shower-frizzed waves.

-

…well, that was unexpected.

Jim frowned.

Half-hard and pressed into Sebastian’s thigh, Sherlock close behind…

Sherlock had only hugged him earlier to hide something. Sebastian couldn’t just _manhandle_ him into being affectionate.

Even though Sebastian’s manhandling was what he’d been subconsciously working towards.

Even if Sherlock’s embrace chipped away just a little at deep-rooted fears.

“….what’s this.”

-

Seb squeezed a bit harder. “It’s a hug,” he said simply. “'Cause you clearly need some love.” He kissed the top of his head. Poor Jim felt left out, and the sniper just couldn’t stand for that.

Sherlock was still unsure this would work but he leaned into it, trying not to be off-put that Sebastian knew _more_ than he did about Jim.

-

Jim sighed, resting his forehead against Sebastian’s shoulder. “What I _need_ ,” he clarified softly but forcefully, “Is to not have fully visible body parts _graffiti’d_ when we’ll have to vacate soon.” He drew in a long breath, not sure if he hated or loved this, and admitted through partially gritted teeth, “And not to be kissed like it’s meant when really it’s just a distraction.”

For both their thusly pointed-out faults, he made no attempt to slip away.

-

“Shh…” Seb hushed, “We’ll get you a Brillo pad at some point…” He looked up. “And Sherlock is going to kiss you properly from now on, isn’t he?”

It was interesting, seeing this transformation. Sebastian was so…comforting. He had known what upset Jim. Then he did something about it almost immediately, rather than antagonize (as Sherlock assumed he would.) “Of course.” Insecurity nagged at his veins, asking if he could ever be as good a husband as Sebastian would.

-

_You don’t know that, you can’t promise that, and I don’t like you patronizing me._ But wasn’t it better than all the times Sebastian had purposely said the opposite? _‘He’ll leave you, he’ll get tired of sleeping with you, he’ll never be what you need,’_ ad infinitum.

Sebastian was trying to stop all the vitriol in its tracks. It would only have led fun places- But wasn’t for Sherlock’s eyes- Christ, but he was more frustrated now than aroused, and didn’t like being shushed when he’d held the floor quite well if not a mite cruelly. Everything was all too honest again. Jim wanted to turn in Sebastian’s arms and ask him, _will you really?_ But couldn’t. Begging to be pounded was one thing, begging for true affection was not a fucking option and he shouldn’t have to. And what if Sherlock hesitated to answer?

“…Fine,” he muttered. This was too much. What did they want? To keep him happy. Well, serving up Revenge Lite would do the trick well enough. Sort of. Almost. “Go have breakfast.”

-

_Too easy_ , Sebastian noted glumly. Always meant it hadn’t been solved and would eventually come back to bite him. And not in a fun way. He grabbed Jim’s shoulders, spinning him around to face Sherlock. “In a moment. But apologies aren’t exactly finished yet.”

Sherlock’s arms were jerked away from the unexpected movement, now nearly face-to-face with Jim. He knew what he was supposed to do, but it didn’t feel right, having Seb watch, command it. “…I would love to. But it wouldn’t be organic…” He sighed, kissing Jim’s forehead. “My affection is a private, or spontaneous, matter.” _And certainly not while we’re having an unspoken tiff._

-

Well, that was just shameful, needing Sebastian’s guidance for such a thing. _But sweet of you to try, bless your moronically generous heart…_

If Sebastian was testing Sherlock, Sherlock was failing but the reasons he stated were valid enough. Jim’s head tilted to give the tiniest of pecks to Sherlock’s cheek, eyes lowering. Looking at both of their rings. “It’s fine, Bash, I know he cares,” Jim sighed out, slipping away from between them and towards the bed. “Had that same damn nightmare, after all…”

No fucking, no fighting, what was **even** the point? Jim sprawled over the bed on his stomach, limbs outstretched. Nothing felt right. Sherlock’s scores of unsaid things, Sebastian needed rest and to not be mindfucked extensively; Jim knew it would appear selfish, taking himself away from being The Necessity or even pretending to be properly cheered. Shouldn’t he still be filled with wonder that they were all in the same room at all? It wouldn’t last. But he didn’t much want to think about that, either.

-

Sebastian sighed. Well, there went that brilliant plan. Didn’t want to go after him, lest he seem like a nuisance. He leaned against the wall, looking defeatedly at Sherlock. “Which nightmare?”

Because living with Jim, there were a lot to be had.

Sherlock tugged at a stray curl, eyes trained on Jim as he spoke. “A terrible one,” he said lamely. And quite honestly, what more did Sebastian need to know?

And he did know. So many ways had his mind imagined the worst. Because that was life, hopelessly in love with Jim: fearing that he might be taken away.

-

Wouldn’t last. They’d part ways because Sebastian was on the run as much as Jim had have liked to say, _Stay with us a little while now that I know you won’t kill each other_ –

Dangerous.

Sebastian back on the run, and Jim having no distractions away from a talk that sounded important. Had to be, if Sherlock couldn’t even hug him without Bastian’s direction.  
Jesus fuck, but doing the math on that one made him queasy.

Jim barely heard them. Fine. If Sherlock’s affection came ‘spontaneously and in private’ - which it did – he’d strive to provide the latter, and to clear some of the confusion. Because for Sebastian to have to _work_ on them; it was too absurd. And too heartbreaking, Jim knew, for him.

“Bash, d’you have-“ Headphones, he’d been about to say, but that wouldn’t be enough. Surely they could find somewhere in the hotel, if only a vacant stairwell. Jim sat up, rubbed a hand through his hair, sighed, waved the thought away. “I’ll assume you’re safe here if Sherlock and I take a walk.”

-

Sebastian quirked a brow. “Should be…” he answered, “But if the English fuzz find me, I’ll text you.” Not that Jim was legitimately worried the Iceman would burst his door down at any moment, but it was always good to have a backup plan.

A walk. One that wasn’t a _walk_ , or so Sherlock assumed. “Where are we going?” he asked, as if that would derail the inevitable ugliness.

-

“Provided my Sharpie affliction is ignorable, to talk,” Jim stated, rising from the bed and shooting Sebastian a glare - _don’t you dare be proud enough of it to laugh again_. He swept the room keycard back off the desk and pocketed it. There was just no avoiding it any more, was there? Not with Sherlock accepting Sebastian’s touches but barely giving Jim…anything at all.

_Just_ like Sebastian had warned it might be someday.

Jim stood near the door, one leg bouncing impatiently. Not that he really wanted this, no. But it seemed like it had to happen, before Sherlock’s standoffishness grated badly enough to really, truly hurt.

-

Sherlock bit down hard on his tongue to avoid saying, ‘that isn’t a destination.’ This was supposed to be serious, yet he couldn’t take it as such. He didn’t want to do this, a knot of dread forming in his throat, in his stomach. “Alright.” He grabbed his coat, ignoring the sticky mess in his trousers.

“Have fun,” Sebastian said, mentally cringing, knowing what ‘talk’ meant.

-

_You know, somehow, I don’t think we will,_ Jim thought darkly. Was it his fault the fun had practically ceased when he’d entered the room?

Jim’s mind raced. He shouldn’t go into this annoyed with Sherlock, but it seemed increasingly like such a feeling bubbled in his gut where arousal had been minutes before. Jim led the way to the stairs, ducking his head low when they passed a maid and her cart just to conceal his forehead, barely looking at Sherlock. If the problem wasn’t about Sebastian, it really was just between them…No. Get over the annoyance and try for tenderness, for calm.

_I suppose I haven’t kissed him much, either, for Bastian’s sake…Just because Sherlock wanted to try him out, I can’t begrudge him that. The only boredom cure that was there. And better than turning him right in…_

Stairs went down, stairs went up. “Wonder if there’s a roof,” he murmured, leading the way. It was only just past sunrise, bound to be empty – a nice view might relax them both. Just breathe…

-

“There is,” Sherlock nodded, beginning up the stairs. “Noted the building plans before I stormed the place.” It was eight stories up, but he wouldn’t mention that. Worry. Dread. But oh, Jim was probably feeling them, too. He stopped short, turning enough to look at his betrothed. He offered a sad smile and his left hand, ring glinting in the dim light of the stairwell. They weren’t enemies, even if their needs conflicted. Sherlock knew he had to stop acting like it.

-

_Of course you did, clever darling._

Sherlock stopping gave Jim pause, and he looked down at the proffered hand, back up at Sherlock’s face, reading it and finding the same _book cover_ he’d seen for hours now, hadn’t been allowed due to Sebastian’s presence to crack open for the  _story_ within it.

Jim’s fingers, skin warm, curved around Sherlock’s.

And wouldn’t the Grecian view in the early morning light just be one more _distraction._

“Tell me why you’re-“ He paused, eyes squeezing shut and popping open again as he corrected with a slight shake of the head. “Why you’ve _been_ looking at me like that. Hard not to notice…” Jim plopped down on the stairs, beyond caring for what remained of the particular suit he wore, hand still wrapped around Sherlock’s, giving it a light tug. “Whatever it is, I'm  _sorry_ I’ve made you keep it in, if it makes you look at me like that…” For Chrissake, Sebastian should not be having to push them together! Talk about a warning sign…

-

Sherlock sucked in his bottom lip. He’d been offering touch so it  _wouldn't_ come to breaking down like that. He sighed. “It echoes in here,” he stated simply. He tugged at Jim’s hand, resuming his path up. It had nothing to do with Moran, and perhaps it made it worse to hold it in and participate in several sexual sessions and _listen_ to one very graphic coupling while he was attempting to sleep…

-

Jim blinked in surprise at being denied, but said nothing and rose. He supposed it was sound logic when they were trying to be discreet. _Just trying to be direct, since you go for those kind of guys now…_ Glad he’d kept it in his own head, rolling his tongue across his upper teeth, huffing out a sardonic, out-of-place laugh. _Yeah, I’ve got your number, honey. At least I hope I do._ Cockiness was a good cure for uncertainty, but up another two flights it evaporated some, shimmered at the edge of his consciousness, a thin scrap of armor placed strategically over concern. Wisdom to drop the defensive, anyway, though fear said to keep it. _You **a** **re** a dumbass;_ he berated himself. _Sebastian hasn’t got your back at this precise moment. Hope he’s enjoying a pasty mint surprise…_

-

Sherlock pulled them onto the roof, shutting the door behind them. The crisp pre-dawn air chilled his cheeks, though the coat kept him pleasantly warm. He squeezed Jim’s hand before letting go, wandering to the edge of the roof, looking over the remaining night lights of the city. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I’ve made mistakes.” The least of what he did, plain and simple. “And…I believe I will continue to make them.”

-

They’d woken up on a rooftop before, together. Nice day that had been. Jim was too warm with bottled emotion and energy to feel the chill much but shoved his hands in his pockets, clicking his tongue a little at Sherlock’s words. “Such as…?” he prompted, watching his love’s face rather than the occasional vehicle pass below.

-

Sherlock continued to peer over the edge. _Such as…_ What a ridiculous question. What hadn’t he done, honestly? “Sympathies for Moran have clouded my judgment. I shouldn’t have come here, nor should I have pushed you toward him.” _And subsequently myself_. “A bit of homesickness led me back to London in the first place.” And a seed of doubt that their two clashing wants in regard to family could ever be compromised. If he were being entirely honest with himself, perhaps on some level, sleeping with The Woman was tied to a biological quest for normalcy (not that it would ever happen with her.) “And…perhaps you are better suited to this life than I am.”

-

_Pushed me towards? You looked for him without backup and I had to-_ The protest died halfway through Jim’s brain, replaced by another as he blinked. _You wanted this_. How many times had Sherlock said he could leave them to reconnect, two, three?

He could see the homesickness coming, and could easily forgive that…but was listening even closer now. For nuances. For slip-ups. For confirmation of the theory that made him slightly dizzy in its possible gravity. Gravity, and genius…Suspicion hardened his eyes. “Well, I don’t regret the sympathies, or being here, and I’d be tender with you about that if I thought you really did,” Jim said with some bravado, a toss of the head, before he glanced over the edge of the roof. Pretty. But boring. But something to look at other than Sherlock as he cleared his throat and asked, “To which aspects of ‘this life’ are you referring?”

-

It was strange – what  _was_ he referring to? Being isolated? No, he enjoyed that. Being on the run? That was fun, too, but couldn’t last if he were to focus on long-term goals. Being in a relationship? Ah…that was what he’d told The Woman. And it was true, as far as he’d come to know relationships. And having the occasional shag with Sebastian wasn’t exactly his front-runner, despite how he’d been acting. “Our relationship isn’t _working_ …And I don’t know if that’s because I can’t or won’t be in one, or if it is a problem between  _us_."

-

“Oh, I don’t think it’s _Can't_ , honey, you’ve been in one for a while now,” Jim pointed out thickly, shaking his head. The _nerve_ , if he set Jim back towards Sebastian, just to…do this. “And I’ve made every-!” Stopped himself mid-sentence, head tipping back as he drew in a long breath, recomposed. “Sherlock…” Jim sighed out, turning again to face him. “Why, then. Because you get bored and homesick, or because of something else? The fight?” The demanding questions were made calmly enough but Jim felt awful. Come to free Sherlock, only to lose him? No. Jim could compromise, adjust to him. He loved him. “Need more time apart, what is it? You can tell me….” Of course that would mean he thought Jim intolerable to be so close to, and that was fucking horrible, too. But he could feel the breeze sting his eyes as he stared, waiting with bated breath, desperate for answers.

-

“Then perhaps it’s a question of continuation,” Sherlock mused, trying not to look at Jim; it’d be painful enough without experiencing both of their emotional climates. “It was easy in the beginning, as most things are…But as it continues…No, it just gets _worse_ while we’re apart.” _I do drugs. I have sex with other people. I consider never coming back._ He let his hand graze over Jim’s. “Being with you feels better. But not…” His gift of persuasion, of words themselves was jamming up. Sentences dropped, arguments died and reformed even as he spoke them. “That fight. It was over _nothing_. But I still tried to walk out. What happens when it’s a topic that actually matters?”

-

A question of continuation?

A bag of bricks to the chest would’ve made a softer impact.

Jim knew the only way to get through this was to not freak out and say hurtful things. But when Sherlock touched his hand, it pulled back to himself jumpily.

_Well, so long as you came back…_

“That _happens_ , Sherlock, there’ll be times even I’ll want to-“ Jim’s voice cracked and he forced his gaze downward. He _should_ look at Sherlock, further memorize his face just in case, hell, on the off-chance, Sherlock _did_ up and leave. It was tough, though, looking at him and seeing so little feeling.

“Except I won’t. I don’t want to be apart.”

So much honesty, vulnerability. It hurt.

“But that’s…up to both of us. And you’re saying- Sounds like you’d rather-“

Jim shook his head again, throat too dry and clenched to work around much at all. Of course Sherlock would want to talk, if he left. Would come crawling back. Of course. Jim knew these things. Then why did it feel like an  _attack_ of emotions? Sherlock was only being honest, not cruel…

“Rather just not.”

-

Sherlock gripped the concrete of the ledge, a solid divide between safe and freefall. He looked up into the purple sky, fading into orange streaks. “There’s no easy way to say it, is there?” he asked, voice hollow as he felt razors dicing his heart. “But I think of being with you…and I feel elated. Amazed. All the things I felt when we were still nemeses…But now I also feel dread. Potential of loss. Potential I might do more and more to drive you away. Or that you might do the same.” _It was safer back then._ “I also find myself irrationally angry at things you do…and… _regret_ …that I ruined our perfect relationship by adding sex to the equation.”

-

_Oh? Who’d you rather have it with? Irene? Sebastian?_

“Yeah, no, it doesn’t sound like the potential for loss scars you that much,” Jim managed shakily, face transformed by a deep frown. “Considering you have all these _regrets._ ” Jim spat the word, lips then working over each other as if he may say more and didn’t, hard enough just to remember how to breathe. “I’d say you need time to think. But sounds like you have been for a while.” What started off snarky faded into crestfallen. Jim’s hand weakly tugged at the sleeve of Sherlock’s coat, when part of him wanted to grab him by the shoulders. “Look at me.”

-

_If I look at you, I won’t have the strength to end it…_ But perhaps that was the plan. Sherlock closed his eyes, biting his bottom lip. He wouldn’t cry. He wouldn’t cave. He took a deep breath through his nostrils, turning to look at Jim and _oh_.

Yes. There was the heartbreak he was trying to avoid. His last attempt at touch had been rebuffed and recoiled from, so he wouldn’t try again. But the urge to lean in, to hold him, to wish him a proper goodbye…It was there. He just couldn’t feed it.

-

“You absolutely planned this, didn’t you,” Jim accused, hands rising and falling again at his sides, at a loss. “Tell me the truth! _Drop_ me off with him, figure it’d all work out fine…” Tears leaked and Jim didn’t even bother wiping them away. He had a suit jacket for a shirt and COCKSLUT written on his forehead, how much worse could it get?

-

Sherlock let out his breath. “No,” he said firmly. “A while ago, I wondered if you might be better off with him. But that was  _before_ he tried to kill you.” His tone got heated as it went on. “I came here to arrest him. It didn’t work out, and it’s still not.” It was a growl now, almost a threat. Poor Moran, who had done  _so_ much wrong, but nothing to provoke Sherlock directly. “Or have you just overlooked my feelings, _again_ , because they don’t suit your worldview?” A bastard or not, the detective loved his brother. And Jim. Moran had tried to kill them both – whether or not Jim forgave him didn’t have much effect on that.

-

Comforting. But Jim didn’t even have it in him to regret the accusation, or wince at Sherlock’s. “I think about your feelings all the time,” he said in just above a broken whisper, closing his eyes. His chest was too tight, he couldn’t hear more of this, he’d have put up with Sherlock eventually wanting a  _child_ (no matter how begrudgingly), everything he wanted, even let he and Seb have at each other because Sherlock clearly wanted-  He shook his head, eyelids parting. “I- want to fight you on this, and hold you right now, and what’s the point, right? You don’t want to be here. You can’t  _be_ with me, you’re too scared it’ll actually touch you.” He was forcefully biting back more than tears. They’d done this too many times. He always thought, _Oh it’s more sure now, Oh it’s settled._ Wrong. His cynical side had always known it was wrong, but he’d hoped… He thought of Sherlock asleep against his shoulder the night before, how perfect and sweet. Jim looked away. “So maybe you should go.”

-

Sherlock sniffed, alternatively blinking and stretching his eyelids to hold it all back. Just a little longer. Go. Alright. “I’ll catch a flight back to Ireland…” he said carefully, gaze downcast. “I’ll only need an hour to grab my things.” Customarily, he’d shake hands with someone he was bidding farewell. But that was nowhere near enough. He took a shuddering breath before turning around, back towards the door. _Goodbye, Jim._ But he couldn’t force it out.

-

Jim gasped for breath like he was expiring of heartbreak as soon as Sherlock turned. Fuck, fuck. He couldn’t speak around the lump in his throat, and frantically tugged out his phone, fingers flying over the keys.

Tell me you’ll think and that we’ll talk soon. That you’ll take care of yourself please –JM

“Tell me you’ll just stay anyway,” he whispered though Sherlock wouldn’t hear it, Jim barely seeing him through the blur of vision but willing him mentally, screaming heart and blood and soul, for him to check the texts then and there.

-

Hand on the knob, Sherlock felt his pocket buzz. Gut instinct (even if such a thing was unreliable) told him it was Jim. He sighed, free hand going to check. _Caring until the end._

But he could promise none of those things. He glanced back at Jim, a wordless half-smile with sad, tired eyes.

Goodbye. –SH

-

The cruelty of it was unbelievable.

But that was Sherlock.

Trying so hard to distance and protect himself.

But staring at him, Jim wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to forgive this single act of it.

He wanted to hurt him. Spew awful things, lie if he had to, just to increase the sting. Wanted, alternatively, to remind Sherlock how loved he was. Hold him forever. Trade oddball facts to amuse each other.

If he’d known the day before, he wouldn’t have gotten up with Sebastian, but stayed with Sherlock in his arms.

Jim cast his gaze skyward as tears rained down his cheeks, his neck. He couldn’t bear to watch Sherlock go, but couldn’t move. Frozen to the spot. Not going to beg for affection. No. Not going to chase Sherlock down the stairs, cry against his chest…

Sherlock wouldn’t care.

-

Of the many great and terrible things Mycroft had taught him over the years, knowing when to bow out had been useful. And Sherlock, unable to watch Jim cry, ripping him up inside that _he’d_ caused it, nearly sprinted out the door. He took the stairs slowly, wondering if he’d hear Jim exit himself. There would be time to cry. At the airport. On the plane. At their flat as he systematically  _removed_ himself from their life…

But that didn’t mean stray tears didn’t hit the stairs as he descended.

-

It was an hour before Jim shuffled back to the room. Maybe Sherlock would be there. Maybe Sebastian would have talked sense into him, agree with Jim that Sherlock was just scared –

He’d run the gamut of feelings from fuck-off rage to unspeakable loss to telling himself, with 100% certainty, Sherlock wouldn’t stay away long. How could he? How could he.

Jim’s hand shook as he pressed the keycard in, realized it was upside down and swore, adjusted it. He felt blurry, hollowed out. And it would only be mortifying, wouldn’t it.

Told Sebastian the night before, we’re doing better than anyone thought.

Only not.

Probably had just been what Jim wanted to believe.

He opened the door, barely heard the telly, glancing at the bed, the room. No Sherlock.

_Hi, Bash. I was wrong. I was wrong and stupid. You were right._

Again words caught in his throat. Again Jim felt glued to where he stood, another step an insurmountable task.

“He…he left.”

-

 


	7. Chapter 7

Sebastian had been in the middle of cleaning one of his pistols – seemed a good time to go through the arsenal, bouncing again soon. He’d been focused enough he hadn’t realized only one of the two consultants had come back. But as the words hit him – so many conflicting thoughts and emotions. Be happy? Well. Not with Jim that _destroyed_. Snarky? _Was my cock really that intimidating?_ Maybe another time. Sympathetic? Openly resentful of that arsewipe?

Perhaps if the detective was still close by, he could get a decent shot…

Moran set the pieces on the table, dusting some oil off his hands onto his trousers, pacing across the room to hug Jim, crushing him into his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

-

Sebastian knew how it felt. Because of Jim. Yet he held him anyway. And cared.

And because it was Sebastian, and safe, and didn’t count as whining if everything was falling apart, Jim broke all over again.

His arms curled in between their chests as he swiped a palm across his eyes, tried to clear the tears but it was useless. “I- I tried everything to make him happy with me, I don’t- Would’ve given anything- And he-  _blindsided_ me with this, I couldn’t talk enough to talk him out of it- I know he’ll be back but s’too much…” 

Karmically, Jim deserved it. And then some! Breakup by _note_ , if the world were fair - thank fuck it wasn't.

He knew this. And it made him even more grateful for Sebastian’s embrace now.

-

Sebastian let him cry, strong arms all but cradling him. He rested his lips atop Jim’s head. What could he say? He doubted anything would make it better. And how could he be so sure the detective would be back? He was stuck in a limbo of deciding whether or not he wanted to cheer him up or console him. He picked Jim up, hoisting him into his arms, finding a more comfortable spot on the mattress for them to lay.

-  
A positively pathetic display, Jim knew it. Couldn’t be helped. He was only dimly aware of being moved, curling up close to Sebastian amongst the rumpled blankets. Had to admit, timing-wise, having Seb back…or had it hurt more than helped, Sherlock wounded by how easily Jim had sidled up to his old friend and flame? No. Christ. It wasn’t like that, not when Sherlock had  _started_ it by kissing Sebastian in the cell…Jim shuddered, wiping his sleeve across his face. He had regrets, too – ever hurting Sebastian similarly, just because Sherlock asked. “I have my goddamn pride, I’m not going to beg him to stay….” Jim murmured miserably, drawing in a shaky breath, struggling to get his voice back.

-

_Ah, but when so hopelessly in love, we’re not allowed to have pride._

Sebastian would’ve begged. Had at some points, shamelessly tried to get them in intimate situations. He kissed his temple. “No reason you should’ve…You did nothing wrong.” Ungrateful sod. Underneath it all, Sebastian was _furious_. Sherlock just cast aside… But this wasn’t about him. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

-

_There’s every reason, I didn’t want him to go…It’ll hurt him. He should hurt. But I don’t want him to hurt._ Jim’s eyes squeezed shut, fresh tears leaking out. Anger waged war in his head with sadness. _He doesn’t, but he does, I need him to…_ Jim attempted to force a smile, but it wavered weakly. “Thanks, Bash…” he whispered, biting down on the inside of his cheek, trying to keep his face from crumpling all over again. Tried and failed. “He didn’t even- It was so cold…” Jim swallowed thickly. He supposed he was just lucky that Sebastian wasn’t mocking him yet. “M’sorry, I’m a mess, you’ve got your own shit to worry about…”

-

_Well, duh, he was cold, that’s what he **is.**_ But oh, that wouldn’t help. Sebastian shrugged. “You’re still my priority.” Always would be. And it was easy to see a danger night as they were blooming in front of his face. “Do you need anything?”

-

_To ignore pride, hop a plane back, beg…with no shirt and this on my forehead. Yeah, great_. Jim shrugged limply. _No. Make him wait. Make him decide. Let him burn. I have Sebastian, who does he have to talk to?_ Concern and vengeance. Black thoughts and the sweetest ones that were capable of growing in Jim’s heart, rising to his mind side by side. Conflicting, confusing, damn it all. Sebastian’s priority. What would Jim do without him just now? He sniffled, lifting his head, gaze wandering all around the room, the bed Sherlock had  _just_ been on--  

“Let’s…let’s get a different room, under…different name. Won’t look for you twice in the same place, I just…” _Can’t be in here, and can’t think about how sweet he looked sleeping, and how everything was perfect and you liked him a little, made him laugh…_ Why did his heart have to keep seizing, clenching, twisting with every thought?

-

“Ah…” Sebastian considered, “Getting another room…Well. I think I need to get to another city. Country. Stuff like that.” To stay much longer was bordering on dangerous, especially since Sherlock left, and now knew where they were….He kissed Jim. “Any suggestion as to where?”

-

Jim felt cold as that reality set in. They couldn’t travel, be seen together – how obvious. Sebastian’s _s_ _urvival_ was his real first priority, as it should have been. Another room  _could_ do…but that was verging on too stupid, too careless. Jim looked even more like a kicked puppy than he had moments before. Sebastian would have to go. And Jim…if he didn’t want to be alone…had to choose which of them to follow. When he could hardly move, think, speak. It  _wasn't_ the end, it couldn’t be, Sherlock couldn’t leave it like that, he just needed time- Jim’s head shook slightly, gaze losing focus. “No, I…” Sherlock loved him. But didn’t want to be with him. Too many thoughts. “I don’t know…”

-

Sebastian frowned. Didn’t want to drive Jim away. “We can stay a little while…” He kissed Jim’s cheek, holding him close. “How can I help? Could take a bite of one of your prank pastries…” He grinned. Easy enough to smell the mint when one was paranoid enough about a vengeful Jim.

-

He didn’t really register the question. Couldn’t quite be cheered yet. Jim’s stare was locked dully to the weapons. “I could kill him for this,” he murmured sullenly. It wasn’t true, but it felt good to pretend it was. His gaze roamed back down to his own hand. The ring. Well. Jim resolved then and there that he wasn’t taking it off, because this  _wasn't_ over. He sniffled, peering up suddenly. “Did you know, Bastian?” he asked softly, not accusatory – simply sad, exhausted. And the idea that he’d have had _warning_ , could’ve _f_ _ought back_ if he’d known – wouldn’t change a thing _now_ , but looking back, made sense as to why Sebastian had asked about listening at the door.

-

Sebastian tried his best not to burst out laughing. “Mm, that’d piss off Mycroft something fierce.” The idea of a cold, dead Holmes…Didn’t matter which one, he had reason to despise either. But ah, such a horrible question. “After your shower…I  _suspected._ But he didn’t say exactly…sorry.”

-

Jim blinked once. “What d’you have to be sorry about, you’ve been…” He muttered, sighed, unsure how to word it, and reached up to stroke Sebastian’s jaw. “You’ve been so nice.” To Sherlock, in not hurting him, and welcoming the idea of sharing…To Jim, in keeping him distracted, cheered, trying to Jim’s sake to push Sherlock to being  _as_ good. Nicer than Jim deserved, after the drugging, note, desertion. It wasn’t a matter of deserved, nothing was, it was about what Jim  _wanted_ but…in terms of who _deserved_ Jim, for better or worse, it wouldn’t be Sherlock. If only.

-

_Nice. How horrific._ “I used to kill people for a living, ‘nice’ isn’t exactly something I strive for.” Used to. Damn subconscious past tense. It hurt in itself, but again, not the point. He rubbed down Jim’s back. “He’ll come back. Who could resist you?”

-

_Strive or not, you’re nice to me. Compared to last time we saw each other, anyway…_ It meant a lot, sad and blurry as his mind may otherwise have been, and Jim leaned into the touch, elbow settling sharp on Sebastian’s knee, chin planted on the heel of his hand. He appreciated the attempt. “I know he will,” Jim said finally, “Just…wants to devastate me in the meantime…” Jim was steady enough to talk now, thanks to the assurances. It was always a choice whether to give whatever Jim needed, but Sebastian always knew what it might be. “I should…text Watson, maybe even Irene…put out a  _warning_ APB for his  _drug_ habit…”

-  
“Mm, I doubt he’s doing it on purpose,” Sebastian hummed. _Just a giant stack of carelessness, if you ask me_. “And if you think that’s wise – I do recall he hates being watched, even with the best intentions.”

-

“Well, I’ll _worry_ , what else’m I supposed to do,” Jim grumbled.Was this Whining About Sherlock yet? He supposed Sebastian would let him know if a limit had been hit. “And you’re right, he didn’t do it on purpose. Just…speaking his mind, _forbid_ my feelings get in the way, so he never lets that stop him. And god forbid I listen without feeling them, I’m incapable…Anyway, quit being so sensible, or it’ll screw with my future capacity to make a paranoid arse of myself…” Self-deprecation and so very aware of it that Jim nearly smiled.

-

Sebastian smirked. “I’m sure you’ve heard of Hanlon’s Razor…” He cleared his throat. “’Never attribute to malice what could just as easily be attributed to stupidity.’” He nuzzled Jim’s neck. “Saved me from blowing my lid several times…” Not that Jim was  _stupid_. But maybe ignorant, willfully so, of his own feelings. But  _Sherlock_ was an _idiot_.

-

Jim’s smile was genuine but faint - _That’s because you’re a wise man_ \- and flickered away into a thoughtful grimace. “He’s only stupid about some things…and only really malicious when he’s hurt,” Jim sighed, then glanced up at Sebastian. “F Y I, that doesn’t make me regret what we did,” Jim said plainly, important that Seb be assured on that point. He could be nice, too, despite knowing not whether it was the end of the train of thought or preface to another entirely.

-

Sebastian ruffled Jim’s hair. “Yeah, my cock tends to hurt.” He stuck out his tongue halfway, the dumbest look possible on his face.

-

…Shouldn’t have forgotten who he was dealing with. Jim rubbed at an eye with one hand, reaching up and flicking Sebastian’s exposed tonguetip with the middle finger of the other. But Jim got the point of the demotion to sass - _quit whining about Sherlock._ Shame that he could barely think of anything else. “Don’t be so crass…”

-

Sebastian flinched back, but he retained a smile. If it was the least bit amusing, then he’d succeeded. “Sorry, boss…But only in the barest possible sense…” He rolled slightly so he was over Jim, peering down at his face, ready to grab his hands if he took a swing at him. “’Cause you  _know_ he was feeling _small_.”

-

Wasn’t it enough for Sebastian to know he didn’t regret it? Oh, that was never enough. Always saw it as permission to make jokes. This one wasn’t hilarious; on par with Jim having an obscenity written on his forehead in semi-permanent marker while possibly having to travel  _and_ possibly being broken up with. “Quit it,” Jim said with an audible snarl, smacking one of his hands. “You knew I felt like shit and went for a _hug_ …I knew he might be hurt and let him walk away with that. It’s not funny.”

-

Sebastian frowned slightly. “It’s a little funny…” he offered, but leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Sorry…Please. Tell me what to do to help.”

-

Jim considered with a suspicious pout, until those words. Sebastian really was a big old teddy bear when it came to Jim. He cared so much. 

“…Not be too upset,” – rather than chagrined, depressed, cheated, robbed,  _sad_ \- “If I decided to go back right away, to see about him. I might let him stew, I don’t _know_ …” And never would. “Aside from a shirt and that Brillo pad, I don’t know what I need. A stiff drink or seven…Your horrible sense of humor…” Giving credit where it was due, Jim’s fingers stroked at the hand he’d swatted, a calm in the eye of the storm as he looked up at Sebastian. He felt quite lucid. “I half want you to come back with me,” he admitted. “With us, if he’ll stay…If you wished to. But now’s not very good timing for anyone, is it?” Jim smiled sadly.

-

“Well…” Sebastian began to speak, unable to process the overall request. “We can get the scrubber…and a shirt…and those drinks, you can even try to drink me under the table if you want.” But oh, that’d be a short contest. Really, he was just talking so he didn’t have to think about _sticking around_ to be in a side relationship with Jim. As he and the detective had already discussed…it wasn’t going to work for long. “I’ll come if you want. But I may have to stagger anyway…A little too close to England to be traveling together…” Both were wanted men, after all.

-

“Little too close to anyone and anywhere to be traveling together,” Jim amended regretfully, wrapping his fingers around Sebastian’s wrist. _And you’re not obligated to me at all. Anything from here on out, is out of the goodness, stupidity, or bravery of your own downtrodden but eternally hopeful heart._ And that thought, somehow, beyond all reason and self-pity, pulled Jim out of his selfishness long enough to ask, hushed as he gazed at the other, “What do  _you_ need?” To survive, to be happy, to ditch the heat of the reputation as criminal numero uno du jour? Anything.

-

Sebastian sighed, shifting his weight off Jim. What  _did_ he need? Need.  _Need..._ He sat up on the bed, pulling Jim with him, easing their hands together, clasped, looking into Jim’s eyes. “I need…” He took a breath. He didn’t need to live. He didn’t need to be with him. What he needed, at minimum, as ever… “I need you to be happy.”

-

Jim just stared at him.

His mouth opened and closed again quickly. _I had this dream…and you were in it…_

He broke the gaze first, knowing anything that could be found in the depths of his eyes probably didn’t give much credence to that wish. Blinked down at their legs curled close together, squeezed Sebastian’s hand, cleared his throat. “Within reason, Bash,” he tried again quietly.

-

Sebastian pulled their hands, silently asking for Jim to get in his lap. He led him in, wrapping his arms around him, encasing the shorter man within himself. “Then I just want you to stay alive.” Because alive, Jim stood a chance of being happy again someday. Neither were foreigners to suicidal ideation, but the consulting criminal was far more impulsive. Sebastian may consider it extensively, but eventually disappeared into a bottle and got too lazy until he found new purpose. “I need you, Jim. Just to exist.” He kissed his neck. “You are the best thing on Earth, even if one stupid detective can’t see it right now.”

-

_I just stopped crying, are you trying to make me again?_

Jim was silent for a long moment, soaking up the affection, the sweetness. It kept him firmly planted to reality, much as he’d have liked to slip away for awhile…

The best thing on Earth?

Sappy motherfucker.

“Who are you and what’ve you done with the absolute bastard I’ve known for ten years?” Jim muttered, kissing Sebastian’s arm in gratitude.

-

“Stuffed his body in a steamer trunk,” Sebastian shrugged, a small laugh shaking him. “That guy was such a douche…” In truth, perhaps a tiny slice of him had died in the Iceman’s torture chamber, not coming back with the shock paddles.

-

“Unfortunate…” Jim hummed, relaxing into Sebastian’s arms, lulled some by the laughter even though his eyes had a faraway look in them, even his tone somewhat distant. “I think his boss was considering giving him his old job back, but I dunno, maybe after so long dealing with that jerk-off, he’d prefer retirement…”

-

Oh, great. Moran didn’t know if he wanted the job back, but he couldn’t count it out by scoffing like he so wanted to do. “I could bring him a message, but dead men tell no tales…” But he knew somewhere, maybe far into his denial, that things couldn’t go back. Their employer-employee relationship effectively ended when he’d snapped and admitted he loved him. Even if Sherlock were out of the picture, he couldn’t see things returning. Nor could he see them advancing in any meaningful way.

-

It would pale in comparison to the old days, Jim knew. The Job instead of _E_ _verything._ And he was glad for Sebastian’s natural reticence, because Jim didn’t want to have to specify that point. He rubbed at Seb’s arm absently. Was it just something to think about that wasn’t Sherlock, or was he that aware of the need to give Sebastian purpose again? “Well, his boss says he can think about it. Over the very long holiday he has completely deserved.” Funny way of referring to being on the run. But for the most part, Sebastian could be physically free of Jim, if not emotionally, if he wanted to be. Jim tilted his face up, looking into Sebastian’s pensive, brooding one. “Who knows, he might find something better.”

-

_To be yours, to love you…I used to think there was nothing better._ Then Sebastian discovered Jim could love as well, in more than sex-and-tolerance-of-bad-habits ways. “He’ll think about it.” For a very long time, most likely. “But…it’s only fair you figure things out in your life. And where he’d fit into it.” With Sherlock? Without? Jim’s primary? Or just his bodyguard with benefits? He deserved that much of a job description before signing back on.

-

Jim nodded, eyes closing. “Yeah,” he said solemnly, and clicked his tongue. “Well.” Figuring life out was easier said than done, especially now. He swallowed thickly. “Whatever happens…I’m done pretending I don’t want you in it.” He’d made that relatively clear the night before, not denying Sebastian’s importance when it may have suited him to cheer Sherlock. Was it supposed to be enough? Heavens, no. Sebastian was a complete spineless pushover if it were. But it was still worth saying if only for Sebastian to hear it, Jim’s way of thanking him for being there.

-

Sebastian had reservations about that statement. _E_ _ven if Sherlycurls insisted on it?_ It’d happened before. Twice, as far as he could tell directly. But that wasn’t the nicest reply. Besides….even if it didn’t end up genuine, it was touching to hear. “Thank you…” He smirked. “But..who are you, and what did  _you_ do with Jim?”

-

“Someone took a pickaxe to his heart and it’s just bleeding out all over the place,” Jim answered without mirth. Sure, being with Sebastian was keeping him calm. But also more procrastination. From calling Sherlock, chasing him down, proactively failing to give him space or time to think…no, might as well let his heart bleed a bit, too. If it had even been scratched.

-

“You should probably see someone about that,” Sebastian said wryly. Jim had meant it metaphorically, but he’d seen something similar back in Afghanistan. Not a fun wound, but thankfully the guy didn’t suffer long. Takes seconds to bleed out like that. He kissed the top of Jim’s head. “Wanna get that drink?”

-

Okay, that almost made him laugh. “It’s…it’s six in the morning, Sebastian,” Jim muttered, giving a perplexed chuckle. Christ. He wiped his hand down his face, and finally nodded. “Yeah, though…Liquid courage…to ring him, and tell him what a…freaked-out little  _fuckhead_ he’s being….” It took many times around in the same circle, many boxes of bitterness stashed away in the dark corners of his soul, to say something like  _that_ about _Sherlock_. He didn’t mean it, or at least didn’t think he did…Hard to tell at this point.

-

“That’s the spirit!” Sebastian clapped his hand on Jim’s shoulder. Well. It was at least progress. “And it’s _Greece_ , there’s a bar or liquor store open somewhere.”

-

Jim snorted. “Yeah. It’s _Greece_ , I’ll fare  _so_ well with no shirt and Cockslut written on my forehead…” He gave Sebastian a Look, and sighed. “Room service is fine. Your bartending, I’ll be calling him by seven, belligerent by eight, and back to sleep by nine. Great plan,” Jim mumbled, curling around Sebastian’s arm. “Best I’ve had in ages…”

-

Seb rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’ll add steel wool and a medium men’s Armani shirt to the order.” He pressed a kiss to Jim’s temple. “And maybe not a  _great_ plan, but it’s certainly orderly.”

-

Sarcasm? The hotel could swing it for a big enough tip. “We might go down in the establishment’s history for having the strangest mix of things delivered, but see what you can do,” Jim shrugged, lifting his cheek from Sebastian’s arm. And for a long few seconds, all he could do was  _look_ at him. Take in the warmth and concern and humor in Sebastian’s eyes, the scars that reminded Jim of all his other ones that he’d gotten over the years, for Jim, and for the first time let Comparison make its awful way to the forefront of his thoughts: 

_Why can’t he love me as much as you do?_

-

“Eh, the food, lube and condoms all seem self-explanatory…” Sebsatian leaned over across the bed, keeping Jim in place as he reached for the room service phone. He picked up the receiver and dialed the desk, giving his list of demands easily – these people got paid big not to ask questions. “They’ll send the drinks up immediately with a Brillo pad. The shirt’s gonna take about half an hour.”

-

Jim nodded absently. With even a short while of Sebastian’s attentions elsewhere, he’d slipped off into his own thoughts. Lube and condoms…Sherlock having it off with Seb then literally  _minutes_ later saying he regretted sex with Jim…what a horrible thing to say. It may have been insensitive, the bathroom the night before, but shouldn’t have kicked off a  _war_ of insensitivity. He was nibbling at a thumbnail, and should have said thanks but instead asked, “Why’d you... this morning, with him.” Curiosity, not anger.

-

“Ahh…” Sebastian scratched the back of his head. “Honestly…Not sure.” He pet Jim’s hair. “I was messing around, and grabbed him, and just…didn’t let go.” _W_ _anting to please you after the prank played into it, but I must’ve wanted it on some level…_ “I thought you might like it. Maybe not exactly what we were doing, but fostering us getting along…” _Certainly seemed to enjoy the show…But it’s easy to pinpoint where it went to hell…_

-

“You thought right…” Jim confirmed softly, but Sebastian already knew that much. Of course, Jim had screwed it all up, but…ah, well. _You two were just getting to like each other, and now this…_ “He-“ But Jim stopped himself. Admitting Sherlock’s regrets, to Sebastian, would be embarrassing, for one. But maybe he needed hearing Sherlock was an idiot, again and again, until he believed it to some extent. Still…it was all too like the predictions Sebastian had made, and Jim shook his head, shaking the admission off. _Pretty messed up that perhaps the last time I see him lose control is at **your** hands…_ “Never mind. Glad you had fun.”

-

Sebastian sighed, about to say something when the knock came at the door. “That’ll be the stuff…” He got up, stretching out his legs as he went, having fallen asleep under Jim. He gave the bellhop a hefty $300 tip, chatting with him a short while before shooing him away, taking the  _cart_ of different alcohols and mixers in. “Alright…Gin, scotch, vodka, rum?”

-

Jim laid on the bed with an audible fwump, his feet near the headboard, head near the end, craning his neck and watching Sebastian from upside-down. Was he armed in case it wasn’t? Awful thought. But no. Sherlock might not want to be  _with_ Jim, but he wouldn’t actively allow him to be caught, hurt, killed. Eyeing the impressive spread, Jim puffed out air. All of them sounded atrocious, not to mention as breakfast specifically. Irish breakup cure. “Just fuck me up,” he muttered in defeat.

-

Sebastian nodded, tossing Jim the green abrasive. “Do you want to scratch your forehead off before or after?” He began mixing a rum-bourbon concoction with a cola so it wouldn’t immediately knock his teeth out. He also poured a shot of whiskey; “Take this first.”

-

The sight of the sponge earned a thoughtful pout. “After. And you’ll do it for me,” Jim said blandly, flinging an arm out to accept the shotglass. He sat up halfway, tossing it back quickly, grimacing as he swallowed. Anesthetic, Jim figured, for the eventual scrubbing and for his heart. “…gonna join me?” _Even though you’ve guns to clean, next hideaway to find, and a soon-to-be trashed me to look after…I’d argue we’ve still a thing or two worth celebrating._

-

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, going for skeptical indignation…But something about Jim giving orders earned him a half-smirk instead. “Sure you want me wasted while I’m scraping off your epidermis?” he asked, but had already begun pouring himself a shot.

-

_[‘You pissed on the job, Moran?’  ‘No, sir, just being myself.’_

_‘You smell like booze.’   ‘Nah, Boss, that’s just the blood in my alcohol system.’_

_‘Are you drunk?’  ‘No, I’m Seb.’_

_‘Is that your fourth or your fifth?’  ‘Fuck off, Jim.’]_

“Sebastian Moran doesn’t get wasted, he just becomes more himself,” Jim paraphrased, a fondness to the words, a hearkening back to an old joke that, no matter how disgruntled Jim appeared at the time, always nearly made him laugh.

-

“On your head be it,” Sebastian replied, passing Jim the cocktail. “Cheers.” He raised the shot, downing it easily – he’d need at least four if he even wanted to get _buzzed._

-

**[SUMMARIZED: Drinking. Seb back to cleaning guns, giving Jim some time to think, symphonic classical playing from his phone.]**

-

Jim was buzzed.

It was just the feeling he’d needed, and the thundering music helped him zone out, though it seemed a potentially detrimental state to be in when there was another knock at the door. What? Hadn’t expected it – danger? – but it seemed Sebastian had, leaving the weapons as he strode to the door, and Jim thought, for a hopeful and worried second, that perhaps it was Sherlock, coming back apologetic and-

Bellhop again. Not Sherlock. He settled his head back down against the mattress with a plaintive sigh, returning mentally to all he could remember of Sherlock’s words, trying to make sense of them without _crying_ ; perking up again in slight bafflement when a soft, light  _something_ landed on his chest.

Jim glanced down at it with a frown, then smiled.

The Armani shirt near his head, and on his chest, a bag of pot.

“Tigerrr…” he snickered, gaze sliding up to Sebastian where he stood. “How much did  _that_ cost you,” he asked rhetorically. Sending a hotel employee out for this, honestly…Just ridiculous. And, already a sheet to the wind or not, just what the doctor ordered.

-

Sebastian chuckled, blowing some dust off the end of a pistol. “Money is no object at this point.” _Copious retirement benefits and all…_ He set it down, taking another shot – wonderful gun safety right there – and giving a crooked smile. “Anything for you, boss.”

-

The glass looked so tiny in Sebastian’s hand. Jim watched him throw it back, the line of his throat as he swallowed, smiling faintly still. _You, Colonel, are a welcome distraction in your own rugged right._ He hummed thoughtfully. “I’m  _sure_ ‘anything’ means remembering to get papers, too,” he said faux-gravely. It was that, or the intrusive thought again: why can’t Sherlock….Fuck, but Sherlock was probably already dreaming of his own illicit medicines…No. _Don’t worry yet. You’re here with Sebastian, you’re out of it, and he’s taking care of you. Appreciate that, for once._

-

Sebastian shrugged, tossing back another sloppy shot, vision blurring a bit. “I’m sure we can improvise something.” He picked up an empty soda can he’d used for a mixer, but discarded it – always a bad idea. He started going through the drawers, looking for- “Ah!” He pulled out a Bible. “Perfect for us, wouldn’t you say?”

-

Jim chuckled, as much at the blasphemy of the suggestion as the way Sebastian’s words ran together some. One thing became clear: they probably weren’t vacating the room any time soon. Sebastian jetting off would have been perfect reason for Jim to do the same, but now? Well, it was all so comfortable and drunken and safe, compared to  _bothering_ Sherlock. Maybe being made to miss Jim, to wonder what he was up to, would serve as a necessary lesson. Jim had always been good at thinking many things at once. “Points for ingenuity  _and_ the bonus handbasket to hell,” he added with a smile before yawning and stretching his arms out above his head, much amused with Sebastian in their inebriated state.

-

Seabstian flipped through a couple pages, pretending to read them. “Got a favorite passage?” he asked, ripping out a thin, gold-leaf-edged page. “I’ve always been an Old Testament kinda guy…” He cleared his throat, lowering his octave as far as he could, squinting to make the letters focus. “’You shall not lie with a male as with a woman; it is an abomination.’”

-

 

_This_ was positively hilarious without even smoking beforehand. Jim buried a low laugh against his own hand, giving Sebastian a light kick in the leg. Between the clear label of Cockslut and Sebastian having lain with two men in a very short amount of time, it was too apt. “You put the ‘bomb’ in abomination, Basher,” he said, with a pleased nod. “Go on, what else does _God_ have to say…I vaguely recall a passage in Ezekiel about a prostitute who lusted after ‘genitals as large as those of donkeys’…Not the kind of thing they throw you in Sunday school…”

-

“Uhum…” Seb looked down at the passage. “Oh, apparently the punishment for ‘laying’ with a man is being stoned to death…” He waved the paper at the baggie. “Don’t think they meant this kind of stoned, though…” He put it on the table, exchanging the pot for the book. “And eh, never paid attention in church, so that one’s all you…But ya think I fit the bill? I’ve had prostitutes say something similar…” he teased, beginning to rip the page into a workable size.

-

Jim accepted the book, chuckling still as he flipped through, calming down into a purposeful deadpan. “Those prostitutes were just telling you what you want to hear,” he teased back as his eyes scanned the pages, having trouble landing on any words over another. “’Dear Jim and Sebastian, what did you do today?’ Oh, well, we sat around and read the Bible…” Ridiculous in every sense.

_[Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm, for love is as strong as death, jealousy is fierce as the grave. Its flashes are flashes of fire, the very flame…]_

Well, he wasn’t reading that out loud. But it resonated somehow, giving Jim pause. He licked his lips, snapped the book shut and look up at Sebastian again, watching him unpack the green with slow-moving fingers. _What are we doing here. Should be on the move. Different directions. Should call Sherlock, call him back…_ The thoughts flitted in and then out again, and he offered Sebastian a small smile. Reassuring him that Jim was still in the present moment, no matter how the nervous future and present pains plagued his mind almost without cease. Sebastian was the cease. The calm. The laughter. And Jim needed that right now  _more_ than he needed the rest.

-

_How wholesome we are, exchanging passages of the sins we gleefully bathe in…Using them to aid our own predicaments…That’s sort of like contrition, right?_ “Ah, but you’ve told me similar…” Sebastian picked up the still-slightly-long joint carefully and sealed it shut with an inelegant lick. “Though…’told’ is misleading….’whimpered’ might be a better narrative choice.” He hunched his shoulders, waiting for a bible to be thrown at him.

-

So Jim _whimpered_. A tiny and abrupt little noise, just to see the look on Sebastian’s face, and grinned lazily, drunkenly. Sebastian hadn’t gotten off earlier…Jim hadn’t either…though the fair point had been made, in regards to job offers, that Jim had some life-figuring to do…Probably wise not to go jumping all over each other again, before Jim could say with any certainty-  but how the  _fuck_ was  _Sherlock_ the only person in such a sexually charged room to have reaped the benefits? Jim felt  _duped_ somehow on that oddity of a realization, and tossed his arm over his eyes. _Not even in the room and screwing with my head. That had better be a mutual problem._ “That thing ready to smoke?” Jim asked in a bleary mumble.

-

Well, that was…unexpected. Acceptance of a tease, which was bordering on True and Gross Exaggeration? Jim  _must_ have been struggling. “Yeah.” Seb perched it between his lips, picking up the lighter he’d set on the desk, lighting the smoke and inhaling, quickly passing it on to Jim. _You need it more than me._ Which was saying something.

-

Jim lifted his arm, eyeing the source of the pungent drift of smoke, and accepted it as he continued his mental grumbling aloud. “Really, though, how’s  _he_ the only one to get off today. He doesn’t even  _like_ sex,” Jim bitched, taking a long and slow drag. Much more fun to gripe than to feel so low, unproductive and unwelcome to Sebastian’s ears as it may have been.

-

Seb frowned. _So much for not griping to me about Hat Boy…_ “Well…that’s just it, isn’t it?” he said, releasing the smoke. “He doesn’t like it, or claims not to, so he gets showered with it. Like if how you pretend to hate cats, they flock to you.” He returned to his half-cleaned gun. Wished heartily that he  _didn't_ get Sherlock off, but maybe this line of thought could lead to more messing around…

-

_People always want what they can’t have…_ As opposed to what they could? Ah, but that wasn’t entirely true…And so Jim kept the observation to himself, as he took another quick puff, pursing around it and closing as he leaned up to ash before handing it Sebastian’s way. Jim’s features wrinkled into a grimace; the smoke stung his head on its way out. “Suppose so…” Supposed he’d employed the tactic a time or two himself, yet with Sherlock it was a more natural state of being than playing flame to moth. Prey to tigers. A merry thought but not what Jim was after just now. “Well, he didn’t say anything about regretting _you_ , aside from that he failed to arrest you.” Jim’s brows lifted as he shook his head. “Because he  _really_ tried  _oh-_ so-hard to make that happen,” he added sarcastically.

-

Seb had been inhaling but immediately choked on it. “W-wait!” He hacked a few times. “ _What_?!” He took a breath, trying to clear his lungs. “You mean he said he regretted _you_?” He shook his head, taking a short puff. “What an asshole…” And the sleuth  _had_ jimmied his door, threats abound, but…Well. Perhaps he could’ve been better prepared. Say, with a gun? With handcuffs? Any backup at all? A case could be made that the detective hadn’t really been trying…It seemed Jim already bought it.

-

Of course, Sherlock would have known arrest would upset Jim – but then why come at all? Boredom, or had Jim’s paranoia on the roof been right? He mistrusted Sherlock but may have been reaction-al, and temporary. “Adding sex to our equation,” Jim clarified lifelessly. “Just as you predicted he would.” If Jim believed in curses, he’d wonder….

-

Sebastian scoffed, taking another drag before handing it back. “What does that even _mean_ ,” he asked, ripping out another page of Leviticus, banning mixed linens. The way they were going, they’d probably need another /two./

-

“Hell if I know…” The paper was light and burned in unpredictable increments, and Jim sat up on an elbow so as not to get ash in his face. “Little too stricken to ask…” His head felt light, airy, the smoke deepening his voice, speaking dully rather than playing it like an instrument. “I know how he _is_ and part of _why_ , but he shouldn’t have  _bothered_ if that’s how he felt…”

-

Sebastian raised a brow as he licked the next joint shut. Jim  _really_ shouldn’t have been thinking about that. “You…” He set it in his mouth, lighting it as he went back to the makeshift bar, “Are too sober.” He poured out another shot as he kept a light clasp on the paper in his teeth.

-

“That’s possible,” Jim muttered, easily derailed, watching Sebastian walk by. He didn’t want to get sick but if he passed out, was safe. Probably. From what? He took another thoughtful puff. Well, at least if anyone barged in to ruin the day further, they’d get taken, or killed, together. A small solace in that. _And at least Sebastian hasn’t laughed at me._ “Should talk to him about all this instead of you, I know…” A non-apology, yes, yet one all the same.

-

Sebastian held out the shot in front of Jim. “Well, maybe you should, but he left…Doesn’t seem like he’s up to talking yet, you know?” Storming off after declaring he regretted sleeping with Jim…Wow. The nerve of that guy. Might actually have a place in Jim’s network, if it weren’t for breaking the boss’ heart. He took a pensive drag, ashing out onto the carpet in true slobby Moran fashion.

-

“There’s time to cool off, and then there’s time enough to miss me...Not sure which I’ll give him.” Jim sipped at the shot rather than downed it in one go, swallowing a third. “I’ll try to stop talking about it…” _But how do I stop thinking of him?_ “Call and get it over with. Or just…lay here. With you.” He smiled some. “Second option’s more relaxing.” Jim took another drag and coughed, eyes bulging before going half-lidded, reddened. Oh, light and airy was pleasant. He set the remainder of the shot on the nightstand.

-

Sebastian sighed. Second option would probably make for a more  _restful_ morning. But it wouldn’t help Jim any just to bottle it up, because all that he was feeling definitely hadn’t run its course. Hm. He must’ve been sobering up. Another shot, only to maintain his buzz, chasing it with a drag. “I’d like to lay around…Or maybe even the orgasm score a little.” Seb smirked, sitting beside Jim, looking down at him suggestively. “But I wouldn’t want to take advantage…and calling him might be better, if only to get it out of your system.”

-

Sex appealed in a distant way – not the first thing on his mind though had always been helpful for clearing it. Which of them would really be taking advantage? The other option was…fearful. “Fears to be faced with such a call…” Jim murmured, breathing in more smoke as he tossed an arm around Sebastian’s leg, exhaled, nuzzled against his thigh. “Not sure I can get up to make it…”

-

Well, who was Seb to say no to _that_ logic? He took a last drag, bending over to put it out on the carpet. “Well…I’ll be here to hold your hand if you decide to try.” He leaned back, losing his balance and collapsing onto the bed, knocking the wind out of him. As he sucked in a breath he began laughing, suddenly finding the whole situation ridiculous.

-

Trying, even with Sebastian’s hand that was bound to wander for the fun of it, sounded like a surefire way of harshing a buzz. “Said he was going back to Ireland, so the flight’ll-“ Jim trailed off as he watched Sebastian, and tsked in amusement. “Somebody’s stooooned,” he sang before sucking more smoke in sharply. Wouldn’t be too long until it burned his fingers.

-

Seb gasped, trying to end the cycle of laughter. “Soooomeone is very beautiful.” The beginning of the sentence was a return tease, but the sniper’s hand had cupped Jim’s stubbled jaw, quickly turning serious. He looked at him through glazed, half-lidded eyes, one corner of his mouth tugged up. “And about to run out of his joint…”

-

Sebastian Moran had an odd quality, maybe even a talent, of becoming  _more_ charming as he drank – perhaps one reason Jim didn’t discourage it more over the years. There was a very real charm to the moment, the lingering touch; Seb was right, though. Jim nodded and took a final pull of it, tilting his head up at the guidance of Sebastian’s warm fingertips so near his throat, passing the last drift of smoke in a gentle breath against the blond’s lips.

-

Sebastian parted his lips, surprised by the softness of the gesture. Was he really that smooth? He inhaled gently, pulling Jim close as he did. _My love…_ he thought, tilting his chin up to blow the smoke away. “Someone’s also feeling sweet today, hm?”

-

Sweet, or just quiet? _If you don’t have anything to say that isn’t about Sherlock, don’t say anything at all._ But with a hazy mind and increasingly comfortable, lead-feeling limbs, and so much of Seb’s warmth after the cold…he supposed Sweet could be a word for the appreciation he hoped shone through. It felt…strangely simple, oh so simple, curling up to Sebastian, nuzzling his shoulder. Still… “M’not sweet, I’m drunk, there’s a difference,” he murmured brusquely, though the way he looked up at Sebastian said something else entirely: _This is nice. I missed you._

-

Sebastian kissed his forehead. “Drunk just makes you uninhibited. So, yeah, still sweet.” His words slurred, arms curling around the smaller man. “You’re so perfect…” he muttered. _Sherlock is an idiot for assuming otherwise._

-

_[‘Potential I might do more and more to drive you away. Or that you might do the same.’]_

_Well. Sherlock. What do you call this?_

A bitter, fatalistic thought and quickly displaced by Sebastian’s adorable delusion of a compliment. Perfect? Hardly. But it meant much that Basher thought so. Tugged at Jim’s heartstrings some. Made him wonder whether  _he_ was deserving of the comfort found in Sebastian’s arms. Oh, sure, the sweetness might be selfish – Seb looking better by the moment, every smile and laugh a siren song of Come Back To Me. Jim knew this. Knew opening any can of worms between them could result in the side of Sebastian he knew better, the one that would get angry with Jim, say awful things…There was no reason to do that or hurt each other. Not when  _this_ was perfect. Sebastian had been to hell and back for Jim several times over, and always came back. Whether Sherlock would…remained to be seen, tested. He deserved that chance but Sebastian was right here and wanted to be. How liberating to cast fate to the wind, rather than push or pull anyone.

“…hey, Bastian?”

-

“Mm?” Seb hummed, closing his eyes in contentment. He could fall asleep like this. Probably would in a few minutes without any reason not to.

-

_I can’t say you’re perfect, because nobody is. I can’t say this is perfect, or I’d get your hopes up._

He kissed Sebastian’s shoulder, rested his cheek against it. “You’re loved.”

And sleepy, Jim noted. He might be, himself, or just close enough to trashed to realize it was best slept off if his brain would let him.

“And if I go…I’ll wake you first. Promise.”

-

That was comforting. After a lot of getting left. Seemed that part of his life was over, and good fecking riddance. “Thank you,” he said, eyes peeking open to peer into Jim’s. “And you know you are. Always will be.”

-

No matter what, always.

No  _question of continuation_ with Sebastian.

Of course, one could love someone always and not be with them.

But it tended to hurt.

Sighing softly, Jim reached up and carded his fingers through Sebastian’s hair, sunshine tinged with the odd gray, so light it was barely noticeable. The ring caught his eye.

Could it be enough?

_Didn’t want a real ceremony, anyway, that was his idea…_

Bad thinking. The wounds were fresh, too much so to assume they couldn’t be closed, healed. Like the one Sebastian had put in Jim’s leg.

If not healed, then learned from, improved upon, like how he wouldn’t walk while Bash was passed out.

If he even could walk, with everything dizzy.

He tried to say Thank You back but peering at Sebastian wistfully, may have only mouthed it. He cleared his throat. “Rest easy, tiger.”

-

A good moment or not, the undertone of melancholy was all Sebastian heard. “Hey…” He stroked his fingers over Jim’s jaw. “Talk to me.” Alcohol was a system depressant, though he’d hoped it’d at least take Jim’s mind off the insensitive douchebag.

-

“Naaah…” Jim shook his head, smiling sadly. “You’ve heard enough, I’m sure…s’him I need to clear the air with…I’d love to say I have better things to talk about, but…brain’s going in circles…” He looked quietly distressed as he admitted it,  _wishing_ it weren’t so. What an insult to Sebastian, as always: here with you, but thinking of Sherlock. Yet Jim was thinking of Sebastian in small ways; not wanting to talk his ear off about it, was one.

-

_As much as I hate to say it, perhaps you should’ve gone with him…_ If it only served to plague his mind, no matter the distraction. “…You could probably catch up to him. If you wanted to.” Famous last words of a complete idiot. Why, why couldn’t Sebastian just take this victory? Oh, right, because his beloved was suffering.

-

“If I thought he wanted me to, I could,” Jim corrected softly. “Pretty sure I’ve  _proven_ my love time and again. He knows. Don’t like repeating myself.” It sounded haughty, huffy and adrift all at once. “…..I should call….” _If it won’t kill you to hear it._

-

“Might be a good idea, but…” Seb shifted onto his elbow, peering down slightly at Jim. “Ya think he’s landed yet?”

-

“Not sure he’d have even found a  _fight_ yet…” Sherlock could be sitting in an airport, with Jim telling him to Go ringing in his ears… Jim closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath. “Yeah. Maybe calling’ll help.” He didn’t sound particularly excited about it, even if he knew it could make things better, and kissed the side of Sebastian’s neck. “Apologies…”

-

Seb shivered a bit at the kiss, but nodded. “Might help get you to move o-  past it.” Would’ve caught himself sooner if he wasn’t so piss-drunk. ‘Move on’ was probably the last thing Jim wanted to do right now.

-

Jim’s lowered gaze darted up to Sebastian’s face, expression a tad sharp. No, no…Seb meant well. “…Yeah.” He sat up slowly, stabbing out the stub of burnt paper in the ashtray, and gave Seb’s arm a small squeeze with his other hand. “Won’t hold that one against you,” he muttered, looking for his phone on the nightstand. Things were…off. The room seemed to shift around him as he lifted himself from the mattress with a sigh, took a few steps towards the window. Oh, should really wait until sober…But just couldn’t. Everything had been left with too many glaring, gaping holes of misunderstanding. To put glue or a board or cement over  _any_ of them…Jim glanced quickly back at Sebastian, curious as to whether he’d bother feigning sleep but not minding how much he heard or didn’t, steadying himself against the sill. Scrolled down his phone to Sherlock, pressed call, and brought it to his ear.

-


End file.
